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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851292">The Current Days:1991</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerue/pseuds/Kaerue'>Kaerue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Betrayal, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Forbidden Love, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Prussia is not to be trusted sometimes, References to Depression, Romance, See? That last tag speaks to how unreliable he can be, Self-Esteem Issues, Sirens, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Ulterior Motives, Unreliable Narrator, like seriously</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:55:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>85,878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerue/pseuds/Kaerue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1991 and Prussia finds himself back in Germany. He is so haunted by the things that happened behind the iron curtain that he can hardly see reality for what it is. In an attempt to help Prussia get better, Germany and Italy reach out to Canada for help. An old romance rekindles between the two but can Prussia move on from his past to enjoy the present? Russia smirks and shakes his head.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>America/Russia (Hetalia), Byzantine Empire/Russia (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), China/Russia (Hetalia), Denmark/Prussia (Hetalia), France/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Germany/Prussia (Hetalia), Holy Roman Empire/Prussia (Hetalia), Lithuania/Prussia (Hetalia), Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 1: White Noise</p><p> </p><p>                                                                                                    Sunday, October 6th 1991 : 80 days until Christmas</p><p> </p><p>I crave white noise. Absolute silence frightens me. I can hear everything in silence. At least my thoughts and memories can be drowned out by the constant hiss of the rain falling down on the roof of the house. I allow my mind to go blank as I stare at the wall before me, pausing my consciousness, ceasing to exist. . . Perhaps if I were to close my eyes, empty my mind, and stop breathing I would disappear. <br/>Unblinking I stare at the blank wall, eyes as still as an undisturbed lake. My vision begins to darken and fizzle out like a burning film reel. Colors saturate, the lines of reality bend and move. <br/>“Are you okay?” A familiar voice asks me from miles away. <br/>“Okay.” I repeat, as an answer? A question? <br/>I tilt slightly to the left as a weight is added to the couch I am on, causing me to blink and restoring my vision to normal. A slightly tanned hand places itself over mine. My eyes remain on the wall. <br/>“What are you thinking about?” The voice asks again. He sounds so muffled. So far away. It sounds like words I once knew but no longer remember the meaning. <br/>“I . . . Don’t.” Is all I can manage in German right now. The warm hand on mine squeezes slightly and my eyes still remain transfixed on the blank wall before me. <br/>“Is he alright?” Another voice asks, high and feminine, like a siren beneath the surface of the ocean. Muffled, but pretty. <br/>“I got him to say three words. . . That’s all he has spoken so far.” <br/>“Maybe he’s overstimulated, perhaps after some rest he will come back to us.” <br/>The colors begin to dance in front of me again as my eyes burn and water. I’m looking at a wall, a window, some bushes, a street, a light, the ground, but I can’t recognize anything anymore. I can see shapes, colors, lines, but where does the bush end and the street begin? What is the difference between the wall and the ground and the light on the street? Everything is blended together, pixelated, burning away from me. <br/>I tilt again slightly to the right as the weight is taken away, causing me to blink and returning my sight. Ah. So that is where the bush ends. <br/>Two hands place themselves on my knees as a figure kneels before me, in front of my line of sight. Blue eyes as deep as the ocean stare into mine. They belonged to the love of my life. <br/>“Wolfgang.” I say while placing my hand on top of one of his. The blue eyes look hurt so I reach out and cup the face they belong to. I can see his smooth skin now, that straight nose, thin lips, blonde hair. The man before me sighs and looks up somewhere beyond me. <br/>“He’s not going to move.” He says<br/>“You might have to carry him. If he can’t recognize you there is no way he is making it there by himself.” The siren says. <br/>The hands on my knees leave and return in two different places, one underneath my knees and the other against my back. My eyes remain on the wall as I levitate from the coach. Maybe if I concentrate enough, I can lift myself all the way up to the clouds. <br/>“Hmm.” I let out a noise of disappointment as the wall leaves my vision and is replaced with a long dark opening. I close my eyes and try to levitate back to the wall, but find myself looking down a set of stairs instead. I need to practice this. <br/>My floating ends with me laying on my back against something very soft. My line of vision falls on another wall, this time above me. Ceiling, perhaps. This will work mighty fine. <br/>The beige color begins to bend and squiggle as little fireworks explode in my eyes. Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle. <br/>“I don’t know what to do.” Wolfgang says, tears at the edge of his voice. <br/>“Give him some time. . . Just give it time.” The siren sings. </p><p>                                                                                                                                 October 7th, 1991  </p><p> </p><p>I reach out for the warmth I desperately want, but my hands find nothing. No warmth. Just an endless sea of cold sheets. <br/>The events of the last two days flood back to me violently and I sit up abruptly. <br/>“Where the hell am I?” I ask, mostly to myself. <br/>“What?” A voice asks. <br/>I look to my left and see Germany sitting next to the bed. <br/>“Where am I?” I ask, barely recognizing him. <br/>“I can’t understand what you’re saying, you have to speak German, or English.” He says. <br/>I look around the room and slowly begin to recognize that it is my own. I get on my knees and face the headboard, arms reaching up to the flag that hangs over it. I run my hands over the course material. <br/>“Gilbert?” <br/>I ignore him and keep running my hands over my old flag. This was mine. It used to be me. Who was that? <br/>“Gilbert.” <br/>I keep ignoring him as I turn around and look at the flag on the opposite wall. That’s the Holy Roman flag. I know that one. This is my room. My old room. Who? <br/>“Prussia.” <br/>I turn to Germany and tilt my head slightly to the left. <br/>“This. . . Is not Novgorod?” I ask. He sighs and stands up, reaching toward me. A terrible feeling crashes through me as I cower away. <br/>“I’m not going to hurt you. . . Please, I can’t understand Russian.” He says. My eyebrows furrow as another intense memory of the past few days hits me like a truck. <br/>“Sorry, I. . . I’m having trouble making sense of everything right now.” I finally say in German. <br/>“It’s okay. We knew you would probably have trouble. You were in horrible shape when you got here.” He says softly while sitting next to me. I blink a few times and stare at my hands as I open and close them. <br/>“Feels like someone gave my brain a sponge bath.” I admit while placing a hand on my forehead. Everything's so blurry. So far away. He places a hand on mine and my moment of clarity slides away from me. I sink back down onto the bed and stare at the pillows. <br/>“Gilbert?” He asks. <br/>The pillows look expansive from this view, like rolling hills covered in snow. They smell like fresh linen and remind me of washing sheets outside and hanging them on a line. That was Ukraine’s job. I used to watch her and admire. She was like a mother to us. <br/>Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle. My eyes burn from not blinking. The pillows blend into each other to form a solid white mass, the wall in the background seeps into the pillows and vice versa. Colors deepen, lines disappear, everything is everything, bolded and combined. <br/>A hand runs through my hair, causing me to blink. <br/>“Please, come back to us.” </p><p>                                                                                                                               October 8th, 1991</p><p> </p><p>My eyes fly open and I see Germany sleeping on a chair next to my bed. A lingering fog remains in my mind but I can sit up and look around and tell where I am. I look back to Germany and sigh. He looks older since the last time I saw him. What a handsome man he has grown to be. Standing from the bed, I walk over to one of the dressers and look through the clothes in them. Most of these are too big for me now, so I have to go to the bottom of the drawer. I pull out a shirt that could pass but that’s all. <br/>I take off the shirt I have on and place it on the dresser. That’s when steps creak on the stairs and I look up, eyes meeting Italy’s. <br/>“Gilbert -” She begins, eyes trailing down my body, “you. . . I” She can’t even form a sentence. <br/>“Keep down.” I say, not wanting her voice to wake up Germany. <br/>“Keep down? I’ve never seen someone look so emaciated in my life!” She says before covering her mouth and walking toward me, placing a hand on my chest like she doesn’t believe what she sees. Before I can tell her to be quiet, I notice Germany move and open his eyes. Dammit. <br/>He stands abruptly and looks at me like Italy had done. I can see his jaw tighten and he looks away. <br/>“Italy, leave us.” He says sternly. She gives him a worried look but obeys nonetheless, disappearing as quickly as she appeared. <br/>Nervously, I look back to Germany. <br/>“Ludwig, I know it looks bad b-”<br/>“You lied to me.” He interrupts. <br/>“Excuse me?” <br/>“You said you were going to be fine. You said it wasn’t going to be that bad. You also said that I’d be fine without you. . . Well, I’ll tell you I definitely wasn’t fine without you.” There is so much emotion in his voice it breaks my heart. <br/>“You can’t get mad at me for what I did.” I say hardly above a whisper. <br/>“I’m not mad at you. . . Not at all. . .” He eyes my body again. “I wouldn’t have been able to go through what you did, not then. . . I understand why you did what you did, but it still hurts. . . And I feel like I deserve what happened to you, but all I got was a slap on the wrist.” His voice cracks as he chokes on tears. I feel my own eyes begin to mist as I approach him and place a hand on his arm. <br/>“That’s all I wanted to happen to you. I wanted them to go easy on you, you were just a kid.” “Still. . . I hate that this happened to you. . . And I’m so sorry that you keep suffering because of my actions.” <br/>“It’ll be okay, little one.” I say, head feeling woozy again. I’m looking into his eyes one moment then staring at the ceiling again the next. I’m not entirely sure how I ended up on the bed but the firework show is pretty nice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not That Easy To Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2: Not That Easy To Escape</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wednesday, October 9th, 1991 : 77 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something cool and wet moves across my forehead. A sensation passes against my neck and I shift away. <br/>“No, please. . .” I hear myself say. <br/>Once my eyes open I’m met with a blurry figure. It reminds me of when I stare at something for too long and everything begins melting into each other, except this time my normal vision is like that. I blink a few times to no avail. My heart begins racing, banging against my rib cage to break free. I feel heavy, like I can’t move, and I’m frightened. <br/>A hand runs through my hair, “I’m not going to hurt you, it’s going to be okay,” a voice says to me. <br/>“No. I don’t trust you.” I say while trying to turn away. <br/>“Is it any better?” A feminine voice asks. <br/>“No, I just checked and he’s at 40 (104) degrees.” <br/>“We might have to take him to the hospital.” <br/>I look to where the feminine voice is coming from and see a green blob. It reminds me of a bush. But with a voice as delicate as that, perhaps it is a little forest fairy hiding in the bush that is speaking. <br/>“It might be wiser to make a house call. I don’t want to move him.” The oppressive blob says. <br/>“Okay, I’ll call the doctor.” Says the fairy before disappearing from view. <br/>Something grabs my hand and I pull away. <br/>“You can’t make up for what you have done.” I say to the blob. <br/>“What have I done?” He asks. My mind swirls and spins, splashing like the waves of the ocean against a pier. I lose my consciousness before I can tell him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 10th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A weird sensation at my ribs makes me flinch. I didn’t much like that, but I’m too tired to open my eyes to see what could have caused it. The sound of clothes moving against clothes and footsteps tells me people are in here. Again, I’m too tired to open my eyes to see who. <br/>Something brushes against my forehead and my left eye is forced open and a blast of light thrown in. Before I can react my right eye gets the same treatment and then I’m thrown back into darkness. <br/>“That’s a good sign. Felicia, if you don’t mind, could you get the cold packs from the freezer and some washcloths?” A masculine, but delicate, voice says. I really want to open my eyes now, but find I can’t. <br/>“Of course.” That must be Felicia. <br/>“What do you think?” That voice was deep and harsh. Germany. <br/>“Well he’s very sick, that much is obvious. The question that remains is why. If it is purely physical then I can treat him like a normal human and he would likely get better with time. However, if this is political, there is nothing I can do to help him.” That angelic voice says. Who is that? A human? <br/>“I’m guessing we won’t be able to tell.” Germany says softly. <br/>“Correct. Only time will give us the answer, so, I will treat him as if it is purely physical and see if he gets better. That is our best bet.” <br/>With a lot of effort I move my arm to reach out to where I hear the smooth voice coming from. My hand lands on something warm and I squeeze it. <br/>“Huh. Another good sign.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 11th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The room is pitch black when my eyes open. I stretch a bit and sit up slowly. No one else is in here. Just me. <br/>Swinging my legs to the side of the bed, I get up and take a deep breath. My mouth and throat are painfully dry, so I make my way upstairs to the kitchen. The house is dark, illuminated only slightly by the streetlights and the moon. <br/>The glasses are exactly where I remember them being so I easily grab one and fill it with water. After downing the whole thing I do it one more time before deciding I should stop drinking so much. <br/>On my way back to the basement I hear something in the living room. Cautiously, I walk over and freeze in the center of the room. My eyes met the cold lavender ones of the man sitting before me on the couch. I’m paralyzed with fear. <br/>“You didn’t think it would be that easy to escape from me, did you?” He asks. <br/>“H-how did you get here?” I manage in a high and shaky voice. <br/>“That doesn’t matter, sweetheart.” <br/>“Don’t call me that.” I say while backing up. He stands and I hit the wall behind me. <br/>“I really hope that you’re not trying to give me commands.” He says, taking a slow step toward me. <br/>“I’m not alone here. . . Y-you can’t hurt me they’d hear me scream.” <br/>He takes another step toward me, smiling lightly. <br/>“Perhaps. . . But you aren’t going to do that, are you?” <br/>My heart is beating like a rabbit's before a fox. I’m petrified as he comes close enough to touch me if he wanted. My body is shaking, teeth chattering. <br/>His gloved hand hooks itself under my chin, making me look up at him. <br/>“It’s going to take a lot more than this to escape from me, fascist whore.” <br/>“Please . . .” <br/>“Who are you talking to?” <br/>I blink a few times and look to my left. I’m looking into another set of lavender eyes but these ones are softer. <br/>“Him.” I say, gesturing in front of me before noticing no one there. Canada gives me a concerned look before walking to me and putting the back of his hand on my forehead. <br/>“You still have a fever. Come on, I’ll walk you back to bed.” He offers, voice smooth and accented like England’s. Confused, I make my way back down to the basement. <br/>He follows me down and I sit on the side of the bed. <br/>“Why are you here?” I ask. <br/>“Germany and Italy asked me to care for you. I am a doctor, you know.” He answers while opening the lid to a small white bottle. <br/>“I know. . . You cared for me once after the war.” I remember. He was a military doctor. <br/>“That is correct.” He says while handing me two little orange pills. I study him as he gets me a glass of water. He’s older than the last time I saw him too. He looks about. . . twenty, twenty-one now. His hair is a dirty blonde color, falling to his shoulders in soft curls. He looks a lot like France. <br/>His paleness and lavender eyes set him apart from his mother though. He kind of looks like a mix between her and. . . Russia. <br/>“Here. You don’t have to drink all of it, but make sure you take those.” He says while handing me the glass and gesturing to the pills. I nod and take the pills easily. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 12th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When my eyes open again, I see Canada standing near the nightstand, reading the side of a pill bottle. <br/>“You’re awfully quiet.” I comment. He looks at me and a chill runs through my body. Those lavender eyes look into my soul just as Russia’s did. <br/>“Good. I would hate to disturb your sleep.” He answers before taking a thermometer off the top of the stand. “Since you are awake, I’m going to take your temperature.” <br/>He hands it to me and I put it in my mouth. <br/>A minute later it begins to beep and I take it out and hand it back to him. <br/>“. . . 36.5 (97.8) not bad.” He says before placing it back down on the stand. “How do you feel?” <br/>“Uh. . . Tired?” <br/>“Are you asking me?” He says with an eyebrow lifted. <br/>“No, uh, I am tired. And a little confused.” <br/>“Hmm.” He comments while picking up another pill bottle and reading the label. <br/>Some silence passes before he looks at me again. <br/>“Do you ever hear things that other people don’t hear?” He asks. I give him a confused look. <br/>“How would I know that?” <br/>“Well, if you heard something like someone talking, and no one else reacted. Or if you asked if someone heard the voice or sound and they said no.” <br/>“I don’t think so, no.” <br/>“Do you remember last night?” He asks. <br/>I look down and try to run through last night’s events. I got up, got some water, went into the living room, saw Russia. . . Wait. My eyes widen and I look around the room, heart speeding up. <br/>“Where did he go?” I ask. Canada tilts his head to the left. <br/>“Who?” <br/>“Russia.” <br/>“Russia was never here.” <br/>“I saw him. I talked to him. He touched me.” <br/>Canada shakes his head. <br/>“He was never here.” <br/>I look down at my hands. <br/>“You can’t escape from me that easily.” <br/>“Hm?” I ask. <br/>“I didn’t say anything.” Canada answers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Surprisingly Clear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is the last sort of introductory chapter before really getting into the meat and potatoes of this story. Hope you enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3: Surprisingly Clear</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sunday, October 13th, 1991: 73 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I shift and hit something warm. Warmth is something I have been craving for decades. Of course I’m going to take it and hold it close to me. I nuzzle my face into it and it laughs.<br/>I open my eyes and look up to see that I am holding Germany. Smiling, I rest my head back down on his chest. <br/>“You’re warm.” I comment. He wraps his arms around me and I close my eyes, feeling the most content I ever have been in the last sixty years. <br/>“You have no idea how much seeing you fills me with joy.” He says. <br/>“This all feels like a dream. . . I can hardly believe that it’s real.” I admit. <br/>He laughs softly and I hold him tighter. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 14th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hold your left arm out.” Canada says while sitting in front of me. I do as I am asked. “Alright, I want you to push against me.” He places his hand on the top of mine and pushes down. I push up against him. <br/>“Hm.” He comments while putting his hand underneath mine and pushing up. We do this for both of my arms in all four directions. I get nervous when he places a hand on the side of my knee. <br/>“Same here, I’m just testing the strength of your legs.” He reassures me. I nod and swallow anxiously. We do this for the outside of both legs before he places his hand on the inside of my thigh. <br/>I let out a shaky breath and move away from him. He looks up at me, lavender eyes making me shiver. He raises his hands.<br/>“We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He says while standing up and moving to the clipboard he has on the nightstand. I look down at my legs and stare. <br/>Blue then fizzle, red then fizzle, green then fizzle. My legs blend into the bed sheets and vice versa, becoming one solid entity. I can’t feel them anymore, they are inanimate, like the bed. The touch of a hand to my inner thigh is harrowing. It makes me vulnerable. I never had a choice with him. His hand sliding up my thigh, I had to play along. <br/>No. Stop. Not in his vocabulary. They had no meaning to him, he told me that. His touch was horrible but the thing I hated most was the way my own body would betray me. He’d make me feel bad about it, make fun of me, torment me.<br/>“I can’t take you seriously with this.” Russia says, emphasizing his statement by gripping me through my pants. I gasp and try to push him away, but I could never match him in strength. <br/>“Get your hands off of me, I said no.” <br/>“No?” He says in a teasing manner, “It feels like a yes.” His hand begins to knead me and I feel nauseous. My mind reels as I try to find a solution, anything, to get him away from me. <br/>“Hel-!” I try calling out but he covers my mouth and pushes me harder against the wall. <br/>“Fighting me and begging me isn’t going to stop this. . . If anything it makes me want to do it more, so I suggest you stop.” He threatens in a low voice. “Are you going to be good for me?” <br/>Humiliation and shame crash over me as I’m forced to say yes. I’m forced to just play along as his hand slides up my thigh because the punishment for not ‘being good’ will hurt worse. He thrived off of demeaning me, emasculating me, forcing my body to react by grabbing my left hand and pressing into my palm. I knew that I couldn’t help it, but it didn’t make me feel any less worse about the erections and orgasms. He said if I didn’t want it then I wouldn’t be hard, I wouldn’t come. . . but I didn’t want it. <br/>I feel my eyes begin to water as I stare down at my thighs and the bedsheets. No, no, don’t fucking cry, how pathetic. I was raised better than this. Keep it together. <br/>“Gilbert?” Canada says, kneeling down in front of me. I look into his lavender eyes and see Russia. <br/>“I’m sorry.” I manage. <br/>“Sorry? There is nothing to apologize about.” <br/>“I’m sorry for flinching and being difficult.” <br/>“You are not being difficult, trust me. I understand that you’ve gone through some very distressing situations, I should have warned you that I was going to touch you like that.” I let out a breath of relief and look back down at my thighs. Disappointing and disobeying are two things I can’t stand. “Let's take a break, I’ve gotten enough information from you for now.” He suggests while standing up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 15th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“. . . Mostly in and out, but you’re more than welcome. . . Sure. . .” The voice is so muffled and far away. <br/>The door to the basement opens and I hear multiple pairs of shoes walk down the steps. <br/>“Oh, my heavens.” A high masculine voice comments. I feel something drape over me and I open my eyes to see a figure kneeling beside the bed with their chest on mine and arms wrapped around me. <br/>“What the hell?” I ask. <br/>“No one thought you were alive.” The figure says while leaning up off me and looking at me. Brown eyes, dark hair, glasses, defined nose. <br/>“Austria?” I ask. <br/>Tears are falling from his eyes as he runs a hand through my hair. <br/>“It is absolutely wonderful to see you again.” He says. I sit up and blink a few times, slowly starting to recognize him fully and understanding where I am. <br/>“You as well.” I answer. <br/>“Would it be alright if I spoke with him alone?” He asks whoever else entered the room. <br/>“Sure.” Comes Germany’s voice. Footsteps leave the room, making us alone. <br/>“Gilbert, I’m so sorry. I knew I should have said something, I was just so scared that I-”<br/>“Shh,” I interrupt him, “it’s not your fault.” <br/>“It is. I knew you were alive and I remained quiet.” More tears fall down his face as he says this. I wipe them away with my thumb. <br/>“I’m glad you did. Even if everyone knew, there was nothing they could do.” <br/>Austria nods and looks down. <br/>“I know we were no saints in the forties but. . . This was excessive.” He comments. <br/>We remain silent for a while before he asks me a question. <br/>“Have you seen anyone other than Germany, Italy, Canada and myself?” I shake my head.<br/>“I’m a little nervous, honestly. I fear my presence may open old wounds. I was severely hated and feared, and condemned to death as the most heinous villain to live on this Earth. I’m sure seeing me alive will haunt the others.” I admit. <br/>“It’s been almost sixty years. I’m sure they have healed, even if at least a little.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 16th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please, no, anything but that. . . I can’t take this.” <br/>I’m haunted by what has happened. My nights are filled with memories I wish I could just forget. I remember not being able to sleep comfortably. Any little movement could mean the end of my life. Could be someone just around the corner, just outside the door, at the mouth of the tent. <br/>“I-I don’t know what you want, please I. . .” <br/>Something brushes my shoulder and I jolt awake, taking the wrist that brushed me and pulling it. I used to pull this move often during war, and it has saved my life more times than I can count. I always end up over the perpetrator, like I am now.  <br/>I find myself straddling a very surprised looking Canada. <br/>“I am so sorry. I had no idea I even woke you up.” He apologizes. I reorient myself and sit back on him. <br/>“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I should have warned you that I can do that.” <br/>“Well, I’m glad to see you alert and well-situated. . .” He trails off, looking awkwardly to his left. At first I’m confused by his awkwardness before it dons on me the rather intimate position we are in. As I’m moving off him to sit on the side of the bed, Italy walks down into the room. She lifts an eyebrow at us and I notice Canada blush considerably before getting off the bed and busying himself with one of the pill bottles on the nightstand. <br/>“Glad to see you awake, Gilbert. How are you feeling?” She asks. <br/>“Surprisingly clear.” I answer. <br/>“Good. . . Canada, may I speak with you for a moment?” <br/>“Of course.” He answers, following her outside of the room. <br/>A bit curious, I wait until the door is closed before going to it and listening to their conversation. <br/>“When I walked in, were you two. . ?” Italy begins. <br/>“Heavens no. I would never take advantage of someone like that. He reacted poorly to me touching him and tossed me onto the bed. Nothing more.” <br/>“Okay, good. I mean, not good that he reacted that way but good you’re not taking advantage of him. . . Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we might have a problem. Germany just got off the phone with America who just met with France and England. They are demanding that Gilbert should attend the meeting tomorrow morning since some of the talking points involve him. . . They even suggested that they don’t feel comfortable with him living with or in Germany.” <br/>My heart sinks as I stare at the door. <br/>“What? That is ridiculous, he is in no shape to be living alone.” Canada says. <br/>“I know. Germany and America know that too, but Western Europe is convinced it is dangerous. . . Is he well enough to go to the meeting?” <br/>Some silence passes before Canada gives his answer. <br/>“He could be.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Our Ship is Overwhelmed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 4: Our Ship is Overwhelmed</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thursday, October 17th, 1991 : 69 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As my eyes slowly open, and the light gray world begins to become clear, I notice I’m staring at the back of a car seat. I blink a few times and sit up, putting together that I had just been sleeping in Canada’s lap. <br/>“Sorry.” I say. <br/>“It’s alright. You need as much sleep as you can get.” He answers simply. <br/>I look around the parking lot we are in and furrow my eyebrows. <br/>“Where are we?” I ask. <br/>“A hotel in Poland.” Germany answers from the front seat without looking at me. <br/>“Poland?” I ask mostly to myself. <br/>“I have a bad feeling about this.” Italy whispers. <br/>“It’ll be okay. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” Germany reassures. <br/>“A while yes, but nations have long memories.” She says before getting out of the car. <br/>Walking from the parking lot to the front entrance of the hotel tires me considerably, causing me to lean a bit on Canada to help me get there. <br/>I get nervous as we check in and get directions to the meeting room. It’s been so long since I’ve seen these people, what are they going to think of me? Will they notice how emaciated and ill I look? Will they be frightened of me? Taunt me? Ignore me? <br/>“The seats are assigned. . . Will you be okay?” Canada asks, pulling me from my anxieties. <br/>“I should be. . . Why?” I ask as we approach our side of the large meeting table. <br/>“Because my name is over there.” He says while gesturing to the far end of the room. <br/>“Oh. . . Yeah, I’ll be okay.” <br/>He gives me a light smile before turning and walking toward his seat. <br/>I look at the seat in front of me and the sign that says: Democratic Republic of Germany.<br/>This causes me to sigh. I’m not going to argue with them about what to call me, so I just take a seat and stifle another sigh. I shouldn’t really expect Kingdom of Prussia to be written there. . . I know, but. . .<br/>I look over at Germany’s sign to my right : Federal Republic of Germany <br/>And then to Italy’s to my left : Republic of Italy<br/>The age of republics, I see. <br/>To the left of Italy is empty with a sign that reads : Southern Italy/ Mezzogiorno <br/>To the right of Germany reads : Kingdom of Denmark<br/>It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about Denmark. . . I’m embarrassed now. Embarrassed by my absence, my horrible physical state, and. . . <br/>Italy places a hand on mine. <br/>“Are you going to be okay?” She asks. <br/>“This. . . feels so weird to me.” I admit. She squeezes my hand and nods. <br/>“It probably will be really weird for you for some time. If you get too uncomfortable we can leave, don’t hesitate to ask.” She offers. I nod and say thank you. <br/>In the next ten minutes the meeting room fills up considerably. Almost all of the seats are filled by the time Poland stands up and begins the meeting. <br/>He starts by introducing himself and the city, the talking points, who will be speaking and when, etc. I run my eyes across the room to take in all the nations I haven’t seen since 1947. So much has changed about them. <br/>England and France were both clinging to each other so much in the forties I thought the endless fighting between them would stop, and that they would embrace the obvious feelings they have for each other. Now, their relationship is what it was pre-Great War but swapped. Before, England seemed annoyed by France’s affections and now, France seems annoyed by his. . . I wonder if something happened between the two of them that I am missing. . . Which is entirely plausible. <br/>Next to France is Canada naturally, and next to him is America. Now that is a change. <br/>He has aged a bit; probably because of how powerful he has gotten (his accent is a little different now too, none of that deep south influence it had in the 40s). Everyone is silent when he speaks. His presence alone commands respect and obedience. It’s hard to imagine that he used to be that little colony, fighting desperately to be free from England. I’m rather proud of him, not that he would care that I think that, but I am nonetheless. <br/>A little down the line are the Baltics. I can see Latvia shivering from here. Lithuania wraps a comforting arm around him, but the poor boy is practically inconsolable. The seat next to Lithuania is empty and reads : Republic of Estonia. <br/>A pang of nervousness washes through me as I think about all the reasons Estonia could be absent. My eyes shift to the seat next to where he should be and land on : Soviet Union.<br/>I allow myself to slowly look up and stare at the man who has been the main cause of all of my suffering for almost six decades.<br/>He looks pale, sick. But is holding himself with the usual amount of grace and power, like he doesn’t feel the least bit unwell. <br/>His purple gaze slowly finds its way to me and I freeze as a few emotions run across his face in less than second.. <br/>First, shock. His eyes widen a bit and he blinks twice. Is he shocked to see me? Did I catch him off guard?<br/>Second, concern. His head tilts just slightly to the left. He always does that if he’s asking someone if they are alright, need help, or if someone is struggling and he is about to help them. <br/>Third, and finally, aloofness. His look turns cold and uncaring just as fast as the warmth appeared in him. His eyes flicker to Germany then back to me. I feel like I’ve betrayed him. <br/>China says something to him and he breaks eye contact with me in favor of looking at the other nation. As far as I know, the Soviet Union doesn’t look at me again. <br/>I’m saddened by this. Does he not care about me? Have I lost meaning to him? Did I hurt him? <br/>I can’t stand any of these questions. <br/>The table is a multitude of gray, light and dark shades interwoven to create a beautiful granite-like design. If I stare at it long enough the different shades of gray begin to dance and squiggle, move and bend, losing their concrete lines and differences to blend into a monolith of gray. <br/>Blue then fizzle, green then fizzle, red then fizzle. <br/>Color explodes around the corner of my vision, blue dots embedded in a green nebulous, rolling and moving, expanding and contracting. <br/>Strange symmetrical shapes form and move, and. . . I’m thoroughly entertained. <br/>A tanned, delicate hand is placed on the table in front of my line of vision. It moves to the right then the left, but I’m focused on the dancing gray lines behind it. The hand pulls away and I can finally see the entirety of the show before me. <br/>“He’s unresponsive.” A siren sings from deep within the ocean. The grey lines must be part of the boat. . . I’d like to look over at the water, but I find myself utterly transfixed to the view of the gray. <br/>Something touches my shoulder and I move a bit. <br/>“We need to leave before the others notice.” Sings the siren. <br/>“Wouldn’t that be suspicious?” A man says. He must be a crew member on the ship. I should warn him of the dangers of talking to sirens. <br/>I move my hand to my right, landing on something warm. Must be the man. <br/>“They are dangerous, you know? Don’t speak to them, they will only drag you down to your death.” I warn him. <br/>“What?” The man says, confused. Silly boy, he must be infatuated already. <br/>“It sounds like it’s too late for you.” I comment. <br/>“Don’t try to reason with him while he’s like this Germany, you won’t be able to make any sense of it. Us leaving will be the talk of the day, however if it were just him and I, it might ease things a little. I will take him to the room and make sure he lies down.” The siren sings. <br/>“Alright. . . But the last time he was like this, he refused to walk. You can’t carry him out of here, and if he did get up, he needs a lot of help.” The man sings back. He’s too young to be taken by the siren. I pity the poor boy, he knows no better. <br/>Perhaps I shall take his place. I am an old sailor, breaking down and becoming tired. To save this young man’s life would be an honor for my old soul. At least my death will be blissful, as I’m dragged down to the bottom of the sea with the most beautiful of creatures. <br/>“Cause a fight.” The siren says. <br/>“What? You want me to cause a fight?” <br/>“Yes. Cause a commotion, a distraction, so I can slip out of here with Gilbert.” <br/>“. . . How would I?” The man begins before the siren interrupts him. <br/>“What was that, France?”<br/>“Excuse me?” Another beautiful voice. This is bad news. There is more than one siren! <br/>“Sorry, I thought you were just commemorating America on his success with The Wall.” The first siren sings. <br/>“No, I-” <br/>“You know that it wasn’t only him.” a man's voice adds. Another one of my sailors! Our ship is being overrun! I have to do something! <br/>“Oh, sure, you definitely helped.” Another masculine voice. <br/>“Do we really want to get into the specifics here?”  <br/>“I never said anything to America, I hope you know.” <br/>“Sure, you’re just backtracking now.” <br/>“I swear, I never said anything.” <br/>“Why would Italy lie?” <br/>“Oh, like Italy isn’t prone to lying? Hello?”   <br/>“Don’t accuse her like that.” <br/>“Why the hell are you coming to her defense?” <br/>“I’m just saying, it’s a bit rude.” <br/>“I’m rude? I never said anything!” <br/>“You continue to refuse to acknowledge my participation in the peace built on this continent!” <br/>“Peace? You call this peace?” <br/>There are so many voices, male, female, raised, whispered, the boat is starting to erupt in chaos. The sirens have attacked. My crew is hopeless. Who will save us now? <br/>A loud sound snaps me back into reality. I find myself looking across the table at Russia who has just stood up rather abruptly. <br/>“I am continually shocked by the civility that you display in my presence. While squabbling like lost chickens seems to be the name of this game, I must regretfully decline to be involved in it anymore. Disappointment is all I have for Europe.” Russia says in a calm, yet authoritative voice. The entire room is silent, watching him intently. <br/>“Gilbert, we have to leave, now.” Italy whispers to me while taking my hand. I let her pull me from my seat and we sneak over to the door. <br/>“Yet before I make my leave, I want to make one more thing particularly clear. The only reason Eastern Europe is here right now and not in my home or dead is because I decided so. You self proclaimed western heroes had a negligible at best role in the wall coming down.” <br/>Italy and I leave the room as Russia finishes up his last statement. <br/>“What is going on?” I ask Italy. <br/>“You were having another episode and we needed to get you out of there. The other nations can’t see you when you’re like that, you utter random things and call people by different names.” She says while leading me to the elevators. <br/>“. . . I see.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 18th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wake up earlier than the sun. Earlier than Italy and Germany, even. My stomach growls painfully at me and I sit up in the bed. Perhaps I can buy some food in the lobby. It isn’t too early, is it? <br/>I change into a better set of clothes and quietly leave the hotel room. The elevators open up right next to the lobby and I approach the woman at the small desk. <br/>Polish, Polish, I haven’t spoken Polish in decades. <br/>“Good morning. How much for this.” I ask while gesturing to some of the food she has behind the glass. <br/>“Twenty.” She answers simply. I give her the money and she hands me a sandwich. <br/>I almost say thank you in Russian before correcting myself and saying it in the appropriate language. <br/>I decide to wander around the hotel while eating, looking at the paintings on the walls, observing the garden, noticing the different cars in the parking lot, admiring the group of young women that just walked past. <br/>“Gorgeous, hm?” A deep voice asks me. I look to my left and see Russia standing there. <br/>“Yes.” I answer, ignoring the cold chill that runs through my body. <br/>“Where is your western half?” He asks. <br/>“Upstairs.” <br/>“Why are you not with him?” <br/>“Must I always be with him?” <br/>“Must you always talk back to me?” <br/>I look down and mutter an apology. He just gives me a soft laugh in return. I can never tell when he’s joking. <br/>“You look a bit better.” He comments. <br/>“Thank you. . . As do you.” <br/>“Don’t lie to me, little one. Decades of starvation take a toll on one’s face.” He says while placing a hand on his cheek. A lot more gaunt than it used to be before the Revolution, that’s for sure. <br/>“You’re still attractive.” I admit. He looks away, a small smile appearing on his face. <br/>“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he looks back to me with a look of concern, “seriously, how have you been? I saw how you got during yesterday’s meeting. Italy’s little rouse didn’t fool me.” <br/>“I. . . I’m fine. . . I space out sometimes but I’m okay otherwise. . . Are you alright? You seemed rather upset at the meeting.” <br/>“Well of course I was, did you see those western idiots fighting over who was more heroic? I can only stand so many of their voices before I want to get violent.” <br/>“What is going on here?” We both turn and see Germany standing near the entrance of the lobby. <br/>“I was just talking to him.  . .” I start. Ludwig walks up to us, putting himself slightly in front of me, almost like a barrier between Russia and I.<br/>“Why would you want to talk to him?” Germany asks in a malicious voice I haven’t heard from him in decades.  <br/>“Because he’s not a coward, Paris.” Russia comments equally as harsh. <br/>“I don’t want you speaking to him, understand?” Germany practically growls. I’m shocked at his animosity. <br/>“Oh? Now you’ll fight me for him? I’m pretty sure the last time you just let it all happen and ran to the west crying for mercy.”<br/>Germany grabs my arm and pulls me away, leading me back to the elevators. I look back at Russia who gives me a cold look before turning and walking the other direction. <br/>Once in the elevator Germany lets my arm go and I wrap my hand around where he was holding. I’m sure a bruise is going to form. <br/>“What was all that about?” I ask in a meek voice. I’m frightened by the flash of 1940s Germany that I saw. The voice, the look, the strength. <br/>“I hate when he brings up what I did.” His voice is tense.<br/>“You’re not a coward, I made you go to the west.” <br/>“I should have gone with you to Berlin.” The elevator opens and he walks out. Sighing, I follow him. <br/>“Gone with me so you could have died too?” He turns around to face me after I say this. I have to look up at him. His hand comes to my cheek as he looks into my eyes.<br/>“This was the last thing I ever wanted. . . Your life was worth so much more. . . So much more than mine.” He turns around and keeps walking back to the room. I’m too shocked by his words to follow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Used To Smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday, October 19th, 1991 : 67 days till Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good to see you awake and moving around.” <br/>“Hm?” I ask. Germany looks up at me from the kitchen table. <br/>“I didn’t say anything.” He answers. I look around the kitchen then move into the living room. No one else is here. <br/> “Get it? Because you’re chained to the wall and you can’t move.” Russia laughs. <br/>I look around the empty living room again. <br/>“What do you want?” I hear myself say. <br/>“Me? Oh, you thought that being caught in that bear trap was enough punishment for you trying to run away? We had a deal, my little mouse. I think I have to remind you of why you are in here.” I can hear his voice but I can’t tell where he is. In a bid to protect myself I place my back against one of the living room walls and look around me. <br/>“Cold?” comes his whispered voice, “look at you shiver. . . Your skin is so soft and pale. It’s a shame I have to ruin it.” <br/>“Stop, stop,” I whisper while putting a hand on my forehead, “you’re not here. This isn’t real.” <br/>“Why do you keep saying that? No matter how many times you tell yourself that this can’t be happening, that I can’t do this, will not make it true.” <br/>“Please, go away.” I ask. <br/>“Did I ever seem like the type to not believe in revenge? I told you and your dumb German dog that if you ever betrayed my trust I’d make you suffer a fate worse than Hell. Did you not believe me?” <br/>“I’m sorry.” <br/>“Sorry won’t help you. Sorry won’t bring back all the sons I lost to your greed.” <br/>“Gilbert?” <br/>I look up and see Germany standing before me. I’m shaking like a brittle leaf in autumn. <br/>“What is this?” I ask him. <br/>“What is what?” <br/>“This? . . . Where even am I?” My eyes warm up as hot tears threaten to leave them. He attempts to place a hand on my arm but I smack it away.<br/>“Don’t touch me.” I say in a dark voice, feeling woozy and light-headed. My balance gets thrown off and as I open my eyes again I’m standing near a water well in a small clearing in the forest. The well isn’t incredibly deep, but it still takes a few minutes to get the water and pull it back up. As I look down into the well to watch the bucket fill up, two hands grab my arms and pull them behind my back. I try fighting but another pair of hands helps the first and together they are stronger than me. <br/>“Let go of me! What the hell?” I try. “Help!” <br/>“Oh, keep calling for help. No one cares.” I hear Poland say as he walks in front of me, crossing his arms. Breathlessly I stop struggling. “Already out of breath, huh? Must suck being so small.” He says in a patronizing tone. <br/>“What do you want?” I ask. <br/>“Hmm,” he muses, tapping his finger on his lips, “well, I was wondering why you collected water so early in the morning, before it donned on me. You do all of your outside things before sunrise or after the sunset. It really got me thinking.” He stands really close to me and bends down slightly to be level with me. “What would happen if I stripped you and left you out in the sun for a few hours?” I furrow my eyebrows slightly and shift. <br/>“I think that’s rather obvious.” I admit. <br/>“Aww, little Prussia’s allergic to the sun.” He says with a mocking little voice before laughing. “I wanna see what happens.” He looks up at the two people behind me and nods, causing them to start pulling at my clothes. <br/>I’m fighting against hands trying to pull me. They easily take me where they want to go, wrapping around me, lifting me up. The world spins as I open my eyes and see what looks like my bedroom. I’m torn between feeling like I’m being burned all over my body, and seeing that nothing is actually happening to me. <br/>“Ah, ahn, ah.” I try curling up but it doesn’t stop the burning. <br/>“Gilbert.” I hear Felicia’s voice as she kneels beside my bed and rests a hand on my shoulder. “When did this start?” She asks. <br/>“I-I, like twenty minutes ago. He was acting strange and I was trying to help but he wouldn’t let me touch him, then he just passed out so I brought him in here.” Germany says. <br/>“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s alright.” She tries in a soft voice, but it does nothing to stop the intense burning. I grab her wrist as my body begins to tremble. <br/>“Ahh, please I’ll do anything, oh God.” <br/>“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know how to help you.” She says a bit frantically, taking my hands into hers. “He’s burning up, maybe a cool cloth will help?” She asks. I close my eyes and hold onto her hands like they’ll save me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 20th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You could never understand what that was like!” <br/>I open my eyes and sit up abruptly. Am I hearing something? <br/>“I could never understand? Really? Like I’ve never lost before? You are young! You are just a kid compared to me! I’ve been alive for 1600 years, you couldn’t possibly understand what I have gone through!” Italy yells. <br/>I slowly stand up from the bed. I’ve never heard them fight before. . . Or. . . At least I haven’t heard them fight since I’ve been here. There was plenty of fighting in the forties between those two. <br/>“I am not a child, a child is not capable of the things I have done.” Germany’s voice carries well, but I stand by the door to the basement anyway. I had half a mind to go out there, but I think letting them work through this on their own would be best. <br/>“That just makes you а psychopath, taking the neighborhood kittens and killing them slowly for your own enjoyment!” Italy yells back, her footsteps angrily passing the basement door. <br/>“You think I enjoy hurting people?” Germany’s voice is slightly raised now. I put my hand on the handle. Am I frightened that he could hurt her? Well. . . It wouldn’t be the first time he laid hands on her. But that was decades ago, I have no idea what he is capable of now. <br/>“I know you enjoy hurting people! What about this then? Hmm?” She asks. <br/>“I. . . Felicia that’s different. It’s not fair of you to bring that up like this.” <br/>“I thought you changed. . .” Her voice is heart-broken. <br/>“Felicia please, don’t say that. Of course I did. I’m nothing like I was.” Germany’s voice shakes as if he is on the verge of crying. <br/>“I don’t know. . . I think you need some time to think about your actions, and how you’re handling this situation. Gilbert needs us, and he needs time. You have no idea how to handle him when he’s having a flashback, or dissociates, or is having a panic attack. So you have two options. One, I take Gilbert with me back to Italy, or two, you get Canada to stay here full time because you are not to be trusted to care for him.” <br/>“Canada is a busy man, he can’t just uproot his whole life to stay here.” Germany comments after some silence. <br/>“So, then your choice is obvious.” <br/>Footsteps walk past my door again and a light is turned out. I walk back over to my bed and sit down. Am I really giving them this much trouble? <br/>I look at the clock. <br/>2 am. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Same day, five hours later. . . </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Restless, I leave the basement and head toward the kitchen. I fill a glass with water from the sink, noticing the sun just barely poking up above the horizon. Once I’m halfway through the glass I notice Germany sitting outside on the back porch. I decide to join him. <br/>“Up early?” I ask him while taking a seat right next to him. <br/>“Up late.” He says, voice soft and hoarse. <br/>“Where’s Felicia?” <br/>“Packing. . . She wants to spend some time with France.” <br/>“How long will she be gone?” I venture asking. <br/>“. . . A long time probably. . . France holds nothing but contempt for me, she will only convince Felicia that she can do better than me. . . Which is the truth, but I. . .” He ends his sentence with a sigh. <br/>“You’re not as bad as you think, Ludwig.” I offer. He smiles a bit. <br/>“You’re only saying that cause you have to, you’re like my dad.” This causes me to laugh. <br/>“Fair, but I truly believe that you are wonderful. Being Germany is not an easy thing. It took down Charles, Wolfgang, Roderich, and me. . . You have done and are doing the best.” <br/>“Are we cursed?” He laughs. <br/>“No. . . Just feared.” I answer simply. “Did you hurt Felicia?” <br/>“Why do you ask?” <br/>“I heard you two last night. It seemed you were talking about it.” <br/>“It’s. . . Complicated. She shouldn’t have brought that up like that, I would never touch her like that without her consent. . . And those bruises she showed me were. . . I think this has been long in the making. I can feel her slipping away from me, and I have no idea how to fix it. Her going to France is the nail in the coffin of what I foolishly hoped would be an eternal connection.”<br/>I place my hand on his shoulder and he looks at me. <br/>“Seventy years is a long time. . . I can empathize with your pain. It saddens me to see both of you in such a way, but perhaps some time apart will make things better. From experience, it has worked for me before.” I attempt. He looks down back at his hands, face still blank and seemingly unfeeling. <br/>“The worst part about all of this is how it is impacting you.” <br/>“Me?” <br/>“For almost sixty years you were trapped behind that iron curtain. . . Probably yearning with every fiber of your being to somehow transport yourself here. I couldn’t imagine what you’ve gone through, suffering for an entire human lifetime for something that was not only not just your fault, but mostly mine. I didn’t give you a choice, back in the thirties, you didn’t have a choice. It was join me or perish, what did they expect you to do? You told me no once, but I didn’t care. And in the end you get. . . And finally you are back, but broken, unrecognizable. But the greatest disappointment is how unwelcoming the West is. It comes with it’s own drama and broken households and now it seems you have to go somewhere else to get the care you need. . . Italy wants you with her, France wants you with Russia, I want you with me. . .” His sentence tapers off as he looks out at the rising sun. I look out at the horizon too, trying to piece together exactly what he means. He couldn’t honestly think that I had no fault with what happened in the thirties and forties. He couldn’t possibly think that any amount of ‘broken-ness’ that I have encountered here could measure up to what that house in Novgorod had.  <br/>“. . . You used to smile so much before this. . . I don’t think I’ve seen it once since you’ve been back.” He says uncharacteristically soft. <br/>What is there to say to that? How could I smile? After everything. . . I don’t want to talk about what happened. . . Not with him at least. <br/>“You’d be surprised about what other romantic options you have besides Italy. . . There is a lot to love about you, Ludwig.” I say, obviously changing the subject. <br/>“Well, I’m glad to see that that has not changed in you.” He says, eyes never leaving the horizon. <br/>Sadly I kiss his cheek and stand up. I’ll leave him to his own devices for now. <br/>Before I step completely back into the house I turn to look at him and notice the fresh tears sliding down his cheeks, glimmering from the morning sun. <br/>I sigh out deeply as I make my way to Felicia’s room. The door is closed, so I knock gently and call out to her. She opens the door and sighs in relief. <br/>“Oh, Gilbert, I’m glad it’s you.” She says while pulling me into the room. She shuts the door and turns to face me. “I’m going to be living with France for a while. I asked her how she felt about you coming with me and she said she didn’t mind. I h-” <br/>“Woah, woah,” I interrupt her, “there is no way I’m living with France. Not only would she find a way to poison me, it would absolutely destroy Ludwig if I lived with her. . . You know how much she hurts him, why are you going to France instead of Italy?” <br/>Felicia walks over to her bed and begins folding some clothes and putting them in a suitcase. <br/>“Because I need some time away from Germany, but I hate being alone, and fratello is living in Seville, and would despise me even more if I suggested living with him and Spain for a while.” <br/>“I understand that, but why France?” I continue. <br/>“I just said why. I don’t want to be alone.” <br/>“What about Austria?” <br/>“He’s. . . Busy with Russia. . . And anyway, if you’re trying to get me to stay with someone that doesn’t hate Ludwig’s guts, you’d be hard pressed.” She zips up the suitcase and looks up at me, “No one really likes him, not on this continent anyway. I know that staying with France is going to upset him, but Frances is a good friend of mine and I can’t stay in Germany any longer. I need a break from that man.” <br/>“What did he do, if you don’t mind me asking.” I venture. <br/>She sits on the bed facing me, and rolls up her left sleeve. Large, purple bruises stare up at me. They are almost in the shape of a hand around her bicep. <br/>“I’d show you more, but I’d have to take off my pants for that and I’m not going to do that.” She comments while I stare at the bruises. <br/>“He said that this was consensual. . . Was it?” I ask. <br/>“. . . I like to make him happy, you know?. . . But this is a bit much for me to endure. And I’m leaving for more reasons than him being physically rough with me. I honestly believe he needs some time to sort himself out. He’s been a wreck ever since you. . .” She cuts herself off. <br/>“Ever since I got here?” I finish for her. She sighs and slowly nods. <br/>“Yes. . . That’s why I think you coming with me would help. . . Plus, he is not fit to be taking care of you.” <br/>I want to argue that I don’t need to be taken care of but that would be moot. And from what I can tell, Germany isn’t a good option for a caretaker. . .<br/>“I don’t trust France.” I admit. <br/>“Well. . . What about her son?” <br/>“Canada?” <br/>“Yeah. He’s kind, I’m sure he’d have no problem looking after you again.” She suggests. <br/>“I would hate to impose.” I say softly, looking down at the bed. <br/>“Come on, he didn’t hesitate the first time we asked him to help. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Stay Alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday, October 21st, 1991 : 65 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The consensus between France and Italy on how to deal with us German men goes as follows: I will be living with Canada for a few weeks so I can get myself together. He will be the best to look after me, as he knows how to properly handle my episodes and medical needs. America was tasked with checking up on Germany to make sure he doesn’t get into his head too much, and because they are rather good friends. <br/>Yet, before leaving for Canada, I wanted to check up on a few things. Which brings me first to Latvia.  <br/>As the sun sets the shadows begin to lengthen, darkening the road I walk on. It’s really a small little path, surrounded by tall, thick pine trees for miles and miles. It leads up to a little cottage-like house freshly painted white with brown trim. I walk up the steps and knock on the door. <br/>The sound of five locks being undone makes me sigh and the door opens. <br/>“Gilbert?” Latvia says, a smile forming on his young face. <br/>“Hey kid, how’ve you been holding up?” <br/>“Better now. . . Please, come in, I’ll prepare some tea.” He says while stepping aside and allowing me to enter his house. <br/>He shows me to the living room and I take a seat near the coffee table. Not even five minutes have passed when he comes back with tea and sets it on the table. He sits across from me and sighs. <br/>“I’m scared.” He breaks the silence. <br/>“Of what?” I ask. <br/>“Russia. . . sure, he is backing off of us now, but how long is that going to last?” He nervously looks around the room before his eyes settle back on me, “I can feel him against my borders and it’s driving me insane. How much independence do I actually have?” His voice is hardly above a whisper and shakes like a newborn deer. My heart pangs for him and I sigh deeply. He doesn’t deserve to be feeling like this. <br/>“You are completely autonomous Raivis.” I try. <br/>“I know, but for how long? Ten years? Maybe thirty if I’m lucky? Russia has always been good at digging himself out of the holes he has made.” He takes a small sip of the tea before him then continues, “After the CCCP falls, he’ll pop right back calling himself something else and continue to terrorize me because I happen to have a Baltic shoreline.” His voice remains a trembling mess as tears threaten to fall from his eyes. <br/>I reach over and place a hand on his. He flips his hand so he can hold mine and I look back to him. <br/>“He visited me yesterday. . .” It was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him say this. <br/>“Alone?” I ask. He nods as a few tears leave his eyes. <br/>“He tried to apologize, as if saying sorry could ever fix what happened. I lost so much to him, he took so much from me and I. . . Will never be the same.” <br/>I pull him into an embrace and he begins sobbing into me. Softly, I run my hand up and down his back. <br/>“Shh, it’ll be alright. You know none of us would ever let him touch you like that again.” <br/>He pulls away and looks up at me, pale blue eyes filled with way more pain than a child should have. <br/>“Yeah, that’s what I thought in the forties, but no one cared. . . That’s what I thought in the sixties, but no one cared. The West does not care enough for me to protect me from him. . . I know you are trying to help me Prussia but I know you have a habit of lying to make things better.” <br/>A weird weight presses on my chest at being called Prussia, especially after he mentioned the forties. Russia wasn’t the one to hurt him then it was me. The last thing I want to remind him of is what I let Germany do to him. <br/>“I know, but the West has been active out here. They see you, and they want to help. Especially America.” My last ditch effort to comfort him. <br/>“I’m scared of him too.” <br/>He buries his face back into my chest and I hold him tighter. We stay like this for a while before he pulls away and wipes the tears off his face. <br/>“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry.” <br/>“It’s alright. Don’t apologize for that.” I reassure him while handing him the box of tissues that was on the lampstand near me. He takes them and thanks me. <br/>“Has Lithuania been around?” I ask. <br/>“Yes. . . He’s supposed to be coming today, actually.” <br/>Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rings. Latvia stands up and quickly fixes himself in the small mirror near the door before opening it. <br/>“Toris!” He says excitedly. <br/>“Hello Raivis, how have you been?” <br/>“Alright. . . Gilbert is here!” <br/>“Oh, really?” <br/>Latvia steps aside and allows Lithuania to enter the house. As soon as Lithuania’s eyes fall on me he smiles and rushes over. I stand and we embrace tightly. <br/>“It’s been so long.” He says. <br/>“Too long.” I respond. <br/>Once we pull apart he kisses my forehead then my cheeks. <br/>“Oh, my dear Prussia, what have they been feeding you?” He asks while taking my arm and feeling my protruding bones. <br/>“I’ve been eating plenty. . . It’s just hard to gain weight.” I admit. <br/>“Pssh, I just got back from a meeting with America. If you ate like him, you’d gain all your weight back plus some in no time. That man has so much food.” <br/>“Well. . . He’s rather wealthy.” I comment. <br/>“I doubt wealthy cuts it. He’s something above that, like. . .” <br/>“A superpower?” Latvia finishes for him. <br/>“Yes. Something like that.” Lithuania agrees. <br/>“Speaking of North America, I’m going to be in Canada for a couple of weeks. I wanted to tell both of you that.” I say. <br/>“Canada? . . Oh, France’s son. He’s an interesting fellow, awfully quiet. Why with him?” Lithuania asks while sitting down next to where I was. Latvia and I sit as well before I answer. <br/>“I’m not doing great, and I need someone to watch over me. . . Germany is not the best option and Italy has business in France for a while.”  <br/>“I see. I’m sorry to hear you are doing terribly, but if it makes you feel a little less alone, Raivis and I have also been faring badly. I keep seeing everything so vividly, whether it is there or not. It’s hard to tell some days.” Toris admits. <br/>“Me too. I keep hearing or seeing Russia when he’s not there.” I say softly. Toris puts a hand on mine in a comforting gesture. We got rather close during our time together under Russia. I look into his eyes and smile a bit. It feels good to see that he’s still compassionate toward me.<br/>“He’s not doing good either.” Latvia breaks the silence and makes both of us look at him. <br/>“Russia?” Toris asks. <br/>“Yeah. He visited me yesterday and I could tell that he was sick. It’s October and he was already shaking like it was January. He kept coughing and walked with a cane. . . Perhaps his time is near.” <br/>“Thank God.” Toris comments. <br/>“Yeah.” I agree, looking down at my hands. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 22nd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My first mistake was coming unannounced. <br/>The old wooden steps creak as I walk up them, loudly marking my arrival. I know the doorbell doesn’t work, so I go for knocking instead. <br/>My heart is beating wildly in my chest, pounding loudly in my ears. Why am I even here, why did I come? I should be making my way back to Munich so I can pack and leave with Canada. . . Now, I’m standing at a house just outside Novgorod, knocking on the door, waiting for an answer. <br/>If he opens the door what am I going to say? I should turn around and never look back. . .<br/>I take a small step back but the sound of locks being undone calls me back. It’s too late now. Whatever happens to me will be my fault. I shouldn’t have come back here. <br/>The door opens and I’m met with a soft, lavender gaze. <br/>“Well, well, well, couldn’t stay red, white and blue for long, huh?” He says a bit breathlessly.<br/>“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. . . Raivis mentioned you being really sick and I-” <br/>“I’m fine,” he interrupts, “you can go back to that hellhole you call Germany.” He makes a move to close the door but I stop it with my hand. His gaze is furious for only a second before it softens again. <br/>“Must you?” He asks. <br/>“I’m worried.” I admit. He sighs and opens the door all the way, allowing me to step inside. <br/>“Worried? About what?” He asks while closing the door behind me and turning to face me. <br/>“You. You’re awfully pale.” <br/>“Says you.” He comments while going into the kitchen. I follow him and watch him prepare tea for a while before speaking up again. <br/>“Are you getting worse?” <br/>“Why do you care? I thought everyone would be celebrating my slow and painful demise.” <br/>“Where is Ukraine?” I ask. <br/>“Why are you asking so many questions? I should have left you outside to freeze.” <br/>“I’m asking because you won’t answer me seriously.” <br/>“Fine.” He stops making the tea and looks up at me, “every single day that passes I get sicker. I’m marching slowly to a painful and hopefully final death, as I watch everything I’ve tried to build up since the 1920s vanish before my eyes. Anyone I’ve ever cared about is either dead or hates me, and the one man I couldn’t have more contempt for is the only one who checks up on me regularly, probably to gauge when I’m going to die. Ukraine left for England of all places for some unknown reason, because she doesn’t have to tell me what she’s doing anymore and it’s none of my business. Belarus is with Lithuania and the Balkans are gearing up to tear each other apart once the Union officially collapses, so I’m here alone. . . With you. .” He looks down at the counter, slowly continuing to fix the tea. <br/>A pang of sorrow runs through me as I process what he said. He turns the stove on and places a kettle on it. I take this time to slowly approach him and cautiously touch his arm. His cold, violent gaze falls to me. <br/>“This is how I tell the difference.” I say mostly to myself. <br/>“What?” He asks. <br/>“You, right now, the real you. You don’t try to hurt me anymore.” <br/>“. . . Oh, give me some time.” He jokes? <br/>“Do you want to?” I ask, pulling my hand away. He takes a step toward me and I take a step back. <br/>“If you are that frightened of me, why come here?” He asks, approaching me. I back myself up into the counter and freeze. <br/>“I already told you, I was worried.” <br/>He places his left hand on the counter beside me and uses his right to hook underneath my chin and make me look up at him. <br/>“Why are you worried about me? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.” He whispers. <br/>“I. . . Because I care about you.” I admit to him and myself. <br/>“Care for me?” He says while pulling the bottom of my shirt up and exposing my stomach and all its scars.<br/> “Who did this to you? And you care for that person?” <br/>“I don’t know what answer you are looking for, but that’s the truth.” My voice shakes as I say this. I have no idea what to expect from him right now. Will he hurt me? Or is he just messing with me? <br/>He leans down a bit, ghosting his lips just over mine. I open my mouth and lean up to kiss him and he lets me, kissing back with just as much enthusiasm. The hand under my chin moves to my cheek as we deepen the kiss. My hands find their way to his hips and I pull him flush against me. He’s cold, incredibly so, but that’s nothing new. I shiver as he grabs my hips and lifts me up onto the counter. My legs spread and our hips come together in a way that sends pleasurable waves throughout my body. He moans into the kiss and the sound goes straight to my groin. <br/>The kettle begins to scream and he pulls away from me. Breathless, I watch him take the kettle off the stove. <br/>“Is that what you came here for?” He asks in a smooth voice. <br/>“I. . . Wasn’t expecting it but I wouldn’t mind it.” <br/>He smiles a bit before coughing. <br/>“Don’t tempt me. . . I can’t do anything vigorous, lest I cough my lungs out.” <br/>I place my hand over his and he looks me in the eyes. <br/>“Stay alive.” I hear myself whisper. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 23rd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Saying good-bye is hard, so Germany and I don’t. We said it one time to each other and I never will again. I promised him I’ll be back. <br/>The plane jolts and I tense up, looking around nervously. <br/>“Are you alright?” Canada asks. <br/>“Yeah, I’ll be fine. . . Just a little uneasy. The last time I was in a plane was. . . 1943.” <br/>“Really?” He asks, surprised for some reason. <br/>“Mhm, no reason to fly under Soviet occupation, we could just take the trains anywhere we wanted to go if we were allowed.” <br/>“Is that something you’d be willing to talk about?” He asks. <br/>“The trains?” <br/>“No. What it was like living under Soviet occupation. . . Though, if you’d like to talk about trains I wouldn’t mind that either.” <br/>“Oh. . . I couldn’t see why I wouldn’t be willing to talk about it. I suppose there is a lot to say.” <br/>“Perfect. Talking about what happened might help you make more sense of it.” <br/>The plane jolts again and I tense.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Seeds I Sowed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I really like this chapter but it sure is a dousy so buckle up! The next two chapters after this one are, so far, my personal favorites of the story so make sure to stay tuned!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday, October 24th, 1991 : 62 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can say anything you want, or nothing at all, it’s up to you and what you’re comfortable with.” Canada assures me. I look down at my lap, pulling the jacket I have on closer to me. “Are you cold?”<br/>
“Hm?” I ask, looking up at him.<br/>
“I asked if you were cold. . . I can’t tell if it is or not, I can turn the heat on for you?”<br/>
“Uh, no, I’ll be fine,” I lie, “just thinking about what I could say.”<br/>
“Alright. Take your time.”<br/>
I look back down at the floor. Where do I even start? The beginning? The end?<br/>
I lose concentration and stare at the hardwood floor.<br/>
Canada’s house is a small log cabin, buried away in the Canadian wilderness. It’s peaceful and quiet, but also isolated and eerie. If I tried to run away I’d get lost in the thick trees. . . No one would be able to hear me if I screamed for help, the phones work horribly, and the road to get here is not paved. Just how Russia likes it.<br/>
“I uh. . . Tried to run away once,” I begin, looking back up at Canada, “some time in 1958. I was planning the escape for a few months and finally, one day, the stars aligned and I ran for it. . . I had so much adrenaline, so much panic running through my veins that I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings and hardly a kilometer away from the house I stepped into a bear trap. It broke my leg, cut up my skin. . .” I trail off, remembering my startled gasp, the brutal fall to the forest floor, my hand over my mouth to keep myself silent. I looked around desperately, fruitlessly searching for a way to free myself. There was so much blood and the pain was mind numbing, I could hardly move let alone think. Staggered breaths was all I could manage as I attempted to pull the jaws of the bear trap off my leg. I only succeeded in cutting my fingers.<br/>
In my panicked haste, I didn’t notice the footsteps coming near me, and before I knew it Russia was standing over me, looking down with disappointment.<br/>
“I see you found the little trap I laid.” He said while bending down and running a hand across my thigh, a bit above where the trap had it’s jaws. I flinched away, unable to do anything. “The punishment you are going to receive for trying to run away is going to make this trap,” he continued as he placed a hand on the trap and moved it back and forth for emphasis, cutting me deeper, “feel like an orgasm.”<br/>
“Gilbert? Are you alright?” Canada’s voice breaks through my flashback and I look up at him.<br/>
“Yeah. . . Sorry. . . I, uh, was ratted out. It was Poland. I guess the seeds I sowed during the 1940s caught up to me at that moment. He caught wind of what I was planning and told Russia everything. I was doomed from the start.”<br/>
Canada says nothing, does nothing but look at me. I squirm a bit under his gaze and look down. He has an aura about him that reminds me so much of Russia it’s uncanny. What is he thinking? Is he disappointed? I worry at the thought of disappointing him. If the last sixty years have taught me anything, it was to please.<br/>
“I’m sorry.” He says, catching me off guard.<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“I know sorry means nothing to you right now, but I want you to know I am genuinely sorry for what you’ve gone through. In hindsight it is easy to see that we should have done something more for those stuck behind the iron curtain. I know it means nothing, but I wanted to say something.”<br/>
“. . . I don’t feel any animosity toward you or the other western nations. You’re helping me now and I appreciate that, more than I can ever put into words.”<br/>
He smiles lightly, sparking a warm sensation to travel down my spine. I cast my eyes away from him, fighting the blush that so desperately wants to mark my face.<br/>
“I’m going to make some tea, it should help warm you.” He says, standing up from the small couch and heading toward the kitchen.<br/>
I take a deep breath, composing myself and collecting my thoughts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 25th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rough rope chaffs my wrists and ankles at my repeated attempts to move. The hard wooden chair is particularly uncomfortable, especially if one sits in it for a few hours on end. I look slightly to my left and see Raivis, standing next to me, eyes wide with fear. He has been forced to stand still for almost six hours now, any slight movement or little sway earning him a small punishment. Russia sits before us now, silently watching him struggle.<br/>
The longer Russia is in the room, the more Raivis shakes. Ultimately, the long silence is broken.<br/>
“Raivis.” Russia says softly.<br/>
“Yes, s-s-sir?” He manages a weak reply.<br/>
“What has you so nervous, little mouse.”<br/>
“I made a mistake.”<br/>
“You did. Do you know what happens to those who make mistakes?” Russia asks.<br/>
“Th-they get punished.” Raivis whimpers, tears threatening his composure.<br/>
“Exactly. . . And you, Gilbert, were supposed to be watching him. With how anal you are about perfection, I would have never expected something like this to happen under your watch.”<br/>
“I’m sorry, -” I try.<br/>
“You will be.” Russia interrupts, “I lost a lot of supplies do to your fuck-up. I can have both of you sent away as enemies of the state.” He stands up and walks over to Raivis, standing directly in front of him. He hooks a gloved hand under the poor boy's chin and forces him to look up. “Don’t think for a second they’d go easy on you because you appear to be fourteen Raivis. They will treat you as your real age, forty.”<br/>
Latvia is doing his best not to cry as his body trembles like a brittle leaf in autumn.<br/>
“I-I’m so sorry.”<br/>
“Shh, shh, I know sweetheart, I know. But sorry won’t bring back those shipments. You have to learn to take what's due to you like a man.” Russia poorly reassures. “Your punishment, Gilbert, will be to watch him. Like you were supposed to do in the first place.” He takes Raivis’ arm in a vice grip and leads him to the desk that sits before us. The poor boy looks at me, fear and anguish clouding those light blue eyes that remind me too much of Germany. I’d do anything to protect the owners of both those eyes.<br/>
“Please let him be. You can do whatever you want to me, just leave him alone.” I say.<br/>
“Aww, that’s what you said when I had Germany at my hands. . . Does he remind you of him? Cute little blond with watery blue eyes. . . I see it. . . But you can’t save this one, Gilbert.”<br/>
Russia sits in the office chair then motions for Raivis to come closer. He takes a hesitant step toward Russia who grabs his arm and pulls him into his lap. Raivis is shaking something fierce as he sits in Russia’s lap, facing me.<br/>
Russia laces a hand in his hair and roughly pulls his head back.<br/>
“Now, I’ve been told,” Russia begins, “that your neck is tortuously sensitive, is that correct?”<br/>
“Y-yes, sir.”<br/>
“How do you know that?”<br/>
“It’s been touched before. . . Sir.”<br/>
“Hm. Dirty little slut, whoring yourself out to the others?”<br/>
I furrow my eyebrows at his question. He should not be speaking to Latvia in this manner and he knows that. Sure, the boy has been alive for forty years, but for all intents and purposes should be treated like a preteen. Pulling on the rope does me no good, and nothing is close enough to me to help me escape. I can’t help Latvia.<br/>
“N-no I’ve never done anything like that, sir, I found out by accident, please. . .” Latvia tries.<br/>
“Let’s see about that.” Russia comments before biting Latvia’s neck, eliciting a high gasp from him. I look down, unable to watch.<br/>
“You don’t like what you see? Would you rather something else?” Russia asks while standing, causing Latvia to stand as well. He then, without warning, puts his hand on Latvia’s upper back and pushes him onto the desk in front of them harshly. He then places a hand on either side of the poor nation, pressing himself against the others backside.<br/>
“Don’t.” I say.<br/>
“You know what would be particularly cruel? If I made you do this to him.” He looks down at Latvia. “Would you rather that, little mouse? Am I too big for you?” He teases.<br/>
“Russia, I’m sorry. Please, I will never make a mistake again, this is my fault not his. Please.” I beg.<br/>
“Hmm.” Russia feigns like he is deep in thought while grabbing Latvia’s hair and pulling him upright again. “How about this. . . I’ll stop if you give me a good reason.” He then snakes his arm across Raivis’ chest up to his neck, simultaneously choking him and pressing him closer to him.<br/>
Raivis’s eyes widen as his ability to breathe is taken from him.<br/>
“You shouldn’t hurt him because he had nothing to with it, it was all me. He is just a kid he should be spared from this kind of torture. Please, you can do anything to me, just leave him alone.” I say rather quickly, but Russia does not relent. Raivis’ mouth falls open as he tries desperately to breathe.<br/>
“You better hurry, he’s looking a bit blue.” Russia practically laughs. I watch as Raivis’ face turns blue, eyes fluttering closed. I panic.<br/>
“Because there is a better way to punish him.” I blurt out.<br/>
Russia lifts an eyebrow then releases his grip on Latvia’s neck, causing him to gasp and cough violently.<br/>
“A better punishment than choking him to death? Praytell.”<br/>
“Umm. . . You could. . . Have him watch my punishment instead.” I offer.<br/>
“You think that is worse than death?”<br/>
“. . . Yes.”<br/>
“Lair. But I’ll humor you.” Russia says while making Raivis sit in the office chair. He walks over to me and runs a hand through my hair. “You’ve always been so noble.”<br/>
He walks behind me and out of view for a couple of seconds before standing directly behind me. I have no idea what he’s planning, my heart races in anticipation. I look up and meet Latvia’s gaze. I wish I could protect him from all this, take him to a better place. . . A better time.<br/>
Russia’s hand roughly grips my hair and pulls my head back.<br/>
“I hope he’s worth it.” He whispers before something is dragged across the front of my throat harshly. At first I’m unsure of what happened until I notice the traumatized look on Latvia’s face. Something warm pools in my lap and cascades down my chest and stomach. I attempt to breathe in but choke, coughing up blood. I try gasping for air but that drowns me quicker and in a matter of a few minutes I’ve stilled completely, staring up at the ceiling, vision turning black.<br/>
“Raivis, come. I’ll put you to bed.”<br/>
I remember trying to speak. Scream. Anything. But I had already died. . . I tried in vain to protect Raivis from what Russia so desperately wanted to do to him.<br/>
My eyes fly open and I gasp for air, gripping my throat.<br/>
“Woah, woah, woah, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Canada reassures, “can I touch you?”<br/>
I look around the room, confused.<br/>
“What is this, where am I?” I ask.<br/>
“You’re in Canada, recovering. You just had another attack.”<br/>
I stare down at the bed I’m sitting in, slowly remembering the past few weeks. My breathing slowly calms and my heart slows down. That’s right. I’m safe here.<br/>
“Yes, you can touch me.” I answer. He gently places his right hand on my arm and affectionately squeezes my bicep.<br/>
“If you’d like I can stay here with you until morning.” He offers.<br/>
“You don’t have to. . .But. . . I’d like to talk for a while at least, if that’s alright.” I ask.<br/>
“That is fine.”<br/>
“Tell me something about you.” I suggest, wanting to take my mind of the memory I was forced to relive.<br/>
“Me? What do you, what do you want to know?” He stutters out.<br/>
“Anything, really. What’s your favorite color?”<br/>
My question causes him to laugh, showing off his photogenic smile.<br/>
“Um, if I had to choose it would be red.”<br/>
“Good choice. What about animal?”<br/>
“Polar bear, hands down.”<br/>
“I should have known.” I laugh.<br/>
His hand slides down my arm and rests on my hand. We make eye contact and, feeling a little bit like my old self, I take this rare moment and connect our lips. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide. Shit.<br/>
“I, I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s appropriate, I don’t want to take advantage of you. Our relationship should remain as professional as possible.” He says rather quickly.<br/>
“If you think that is best, I’ll respect your wishes, but you wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. I know my mind isn’t always with me, and I know I can lose sense of reality but I have all my faculties about me at the moment and I am choosing this. Have you forgotten 1945?”<br/>
He looks down, biting his lower lip softly.<br/>
“I have not,” he begins, “but that was highly inappropriate as well. You were, I was. . . Fraternizing with the enemy quite literally, if any of the other allies found out about it I would have been. . .” He trails off.<br/>
“So you regret it?” I ask softly. His eyes find mine again.<br/>
“No. . .” He answers, equally as soft.<br/>
I reach a hand up to his cheek and try kissing him again. He doesn’t pull away, but rather accepts me, parting his lips and letting me explore inside. The feeling is indescribable, which is unusual, normally I’m amazing with my words.<br/>
He begins to sink down on the bed lying on his side. I follow and mirror his position.<br/>
We lie on the bed on our sides, facing each other, lips never leaving the others. I pull him closer to me so that our bodies are flush. He pulls away almost immediately after I do that.<br/>
“We should call it a night.” He whispers.<br/>
“Will you stay?” I ask.<br/>
“. . . yes.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 26th, 1991 </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Тhe feeling of waking up in someone’s warm embrace is wonderful. It feels so normal. Like I can pretend that the last sixty years never happened, and this is just a few days after that night in 1947. How much simpler would life be if I had never been sentenced to death for crimes against humanity? Never been stuck behind the dreaded iron wall, pushed against the soviet bloc with nations who despised me and wanted to see me suffer?<br/>
If only a few days after the treaties and trials I flew to Canada right into his embrace, to heal and rebuild after the war. . . What a completely different life I would have.<br/>
Canada stirs and wakes up. The time for dreaming and hoping is over. It’s time to face reality.<br/>
“How are you feeling?” He asks.<br/>
“Not bad.” I answer simply.<br/>
He sits up in the bed and I watch him move about the small room.<br/>
“It’s been about twenty days since Germany contacted me to help your health improve, so I’d like to take some measurements from you and compare them to the first day.”<br/>
I nod in response, listening to the soothing melody of his voice. Eventually he turns to face me, expectantly.<br/>
“Oh, okay.” I say while getting out of the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Same day, two hours later</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sitting in the cold living room once more, silence hangs between us as he looks over his notes. Occasionally, the silence will be interrupted by the sound of a pencil scratching on paper, or by a sigh from me. A clock in the background clicks the seconds away faintly and I fold my arms in an attempt to stop my shivering. It’s incredibly cold.<br/>
I look up at him and notice he looks rather content, wearing only a tee shirt and jeans, no goose bumps in sight.<br/>
“How are you not cold?” I ask, causing him to look up at me.<br/>
“Have you ever heard of Nunavut?” He answers simply.<br/>
“Touche. . . but Russia has Siberia and he is constantly cold.”<br/>
“Yes, but isn’t that because he made some sort of pact with nature?”<br/>
“. . . Touche.” I say again, causing him to laugh a bit. I happen to make eye contact with him and my heart flutters. A blush begins to heat up my cheeks and he runs a hand through his hair.<br/>
“So, uh, physically you are getting better much quicker than I thought you would. You’ve been fever free for over ninety-six hours and have gained,” he looks down at his clipboard then back up, “ten pounds. I’m impressed.”<br/>
The thought of pleasing him sparks a warm feeling to run through my stomach, and when I look up into those lavender eyes all I see is Russia. That vacant, emotionless stare, plotting, thinking, all powerful. In their search to help me, did Germany and Italy invite another evil into my life? Someone else who could be just as brutal as Russia?<br/>
He has that same stare.<br/>
“Are you alright?” He asks. I’m having trouble seeing Canada and not Russia. The lines between them are blurring. Snow is falling outside, the house is cold, we are surrounded by kilometers of forest, am I sure I’ve left Novgorod? Have the past twenty days been some sick fever dream, and now I’m waking up to my real life. The real reality. Where the wall is still up and I’m still Russia’s secret pet. Where the others abuse me and treat me like the embodiment of Nazi Germany.<br/>
How long must I endure this? When will my sentence end?. . . I was given death, wasn’t I? Is this Hell? My eternal punishment, cursed to forever feel this pain, to forever be hurt and used, humiliated and broken.<br/>
I can’t breathe. Not even death can bring me relief, I’ll just come right back, wake up again to keep feeling, keep living. Isn’t seven hundred and ninety years enough? I’ve lived enough for ten people, I don’t know how much I can keep going on. But I have no choice, it isn’t my choice to stay on this Earth, I have no say. Who knows when my life will truly end, and if it has and I’m in Hell, I’ll never break this eternal loop of suffering and anguish. I will still wake up every day, alive or in Hell, to suffer on forever. No end. Another day after the other. Eternally.<br/>
My hand comes to my chest and I look down at the ground, unable to look anywhere else. Pain erupts from my chest and my lungs refuse to fill up with enough air.<br/>
“Don’t touch me.” I say to Canada? Who has just approached me. He nods and kneels down in front of me.<br/>
I feel like I’m being pulled away from reality, every single thought I have is being sucked from me as my consciousness is whisked away somewhere.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. My Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wow, chapter 8 already, where does the time go? We are a third of the way through this! So, really quick, some context to the following chapter. The last thing Gilbert experiences is feeling like his consciousness is being pulled away from reality, this chapter is what happens during that time. Each day is a different flashback from his past, specifically, a flashback of those he has felt a strong love for or connection to. I really rather like this chapter and I hope you will as well!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunday, October 27th, 1991: 59 Days left until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Birds softly sing around me. Leaves rustle in the gentle summer wind. It’s warm outside but quite pleasant in the shade. I avoid the sun like the plague, naturally, so my ideal afternoon is spent lying under a tree and breathing in the fresh air. <br/>When I open my eyes all I can see is the large branches of the tree, leaves spread out enough to almost block out the light of the sun. I turn my head to the left and am met with the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on. <br/>He turns to look at me and smiles, sky blue eyes glistening with mirth, plush pink lips curved. <br/>“How long before they start looking for us?” He asks, voice deep and smooth. <br/>“Psshh, it wouldn’t surprise me if prissy pants began looking for you right when you left his sight.” I answer. <br/>Wolfgang laughs a bit before sitting up, his long blonde hair cascading over his shoulders as he does so. I watch his eyes trail down my body and I’m immediately set on fire. Sometimes I hate the way I react to him. It makes it harder to stay away, harder to do what’s right. But dammit do I love him.<br/>He crawls over to me and straddles my hips, causing me to lick my lips expectantly. <br/>“I wish I could have married you.” He whispers while cupping my cheek. <br/>“You could have.” I respond. <br/>“I didn’t have a choice, you know that. . . His king is my emperor, he has the Hapsburgs, he’s Catholic. . . They’d have my head if I married you.” <br/>“. . . Don’t you ever wish we were human?” I ask sadly. <br/>“Even then we couldn’t be together, you know how humans feel about our kind of relationship.” <br/>“Must you always be so negative. . .” I say while looking away. His hand hooks under my chin and gently turns my head so that I’m looking at him again. <br/>“I love how hopeful you are, my love. No matter who I’m married to, or what side of the war we’re on, I will always love you more than I have ever loved anything. If this life could be different I’d change it in a heartbeat.” He leans down and places his lips on mine and I accept, opening my lips and deepening our connection. <br/>We start off slow and passionate before getting more and more desperate as time moves on. Times like this are rare for us now, which makes it that much more special. Sometimes I’ll go two or three years without feeling his touch. <br/>Maybe every couple of months I’ll get an arm touch here, a hand on the back there, a quick kiss in the corridor, a squeeze of my thigh at dinner, and if we’re lucky, something quick and fast that usually only finishes one of us. <br/>Of course my love for him is more than lust. I’ve loved him long before I even knew what sex was, and before the end to my chastity. The emotions I feel for him are so powerful and raw I can hardly explain it. I’d give my life for him, I’d leave my nationhood for him. <br/>Sometimes it feels one-way. <br/>That’s what hurts the most. <br/>“Your eyes are so beautiful.” He says while tracing his thumb down my lips. I open my mouth and he pushes his thumb in. My eyes are wide as I look up at him, gently sucking. He bites his lip and gives me a rather desperate look. <br/>“You have no idea how much I want your pretty mouth on me.” He pulls his hand away and returns his lips to mine, gently kissing me while trailing his right hand down my chest and stomach, down past my hips. <br/>A gasp leaves me as he begins to massage my cock over my pants. In a matter of minutes he has me writhing, moaning, and close to the edge. He keeps his lips on mine to quiet me down, as I get rather loud during acts like this. <br/>I can feel that bubbling in my stomach and groin, warming up and tightening, bringing me closer and closer. Just a few more pumps of his hand and. . . <br/>“Oh! My heavens!” <br/>Startled, we both jump a bit, his arms tighten around me as if to shield and protect me. <br/>“Roderich?” He says, eyes wide. <br/>“What the hell are you two doing? Out here no less!” Austria lectures, look of disbelief on his face. Silently we pull apart. I stand and shamefully look down at the ground, willing my excitement to die down. Wolfgang approaches Roderich. <br/>“Austria, I can expl-” Holy Rome begins. <br/>“I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you have in mind. Could you imagine the consequences of a passing human seeing you two like that? A noble no less? Go back to the manor and wait for me there.” Austria says sternly. This makes Holy Rome furrow his eyebrows a bit, as he despises being told what to do. <br/>“We would not have been seen, and what I do on my own time is none of your business, Austria.” <br/>“It is my business, we are wed and share an empire. What ever ignoble and shameful acts you do reflect upon me.” <br/>Holy Rome scoffs at this. <br/>“Shameful, ignoble, sinful, you know that you want me in the same way.” <br/>Austria’s eyes narrow and he slaps Wolfgang across the face. My eyes widen in shock and so do Holy Rome’s. <br/>“I am tired of this entitled, cocky attitude, Wolfgang. Get the fuck up and go to the manor, lest I speak with our leader about your infidelity with an insignificant protestant kingdom!” Austria’s voice is laced with malice as he speaks. <br/>Holy Rome glances at me before hesitantly obeying and walking away. Once he’s out of sight, Austria turns his sights on me. <br/>“You hypocritical whore.” He says, slowly approaching me. <br/>“A-Austria,” I stutter out while putting my hands up and slowly backing away, “it’s true, I have no excuses for my actions. I know I shouldn’t, I’m sorry.” <br/>“Your apology means nothing to me, Prussia. You don’t mean it.” <br/>“What do you want me to do?” I offer, his intense glare making me nervous. <br/>“Oh, I don’t know, the Christian thing to do. Stop seducing my husband.” <br/>“I don’t seduce him, he loves me.” <br/>“You can’t honestly believe that!,” he says with laughter, “he only wants you because you’re forbidden. Before, you were this little innocent nation who had taken an oath of chastity that he wanted to break. And now, he’s married. You’ll never be the center of his love, only of his lust.” <br/>His words cut deep, right into my greatest insecurity. I’m speechless and backed into the tree, watching him approach me until he stands right before me. “I’ve never liked you. You always thought you were so high and holy, now look at you. You’ve turned in your priesthood for adultery and sordid desire. How pathetic.” He ends his abusive statement by kneeing me quite hard in between my legs. Immediately I fall to the ground with a groan. “If I ever catch you two again, I’ll castrate you.” He practically growls before turning around and leaving me alone to hold myself and whimper at the pain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 28th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m hopelessly out of breath, gasping with my face in the snow. <br/>“I bet if you took all your clothes off you’d completely blend in.” Denmark jokes from above me. <br/>“I bet you’d like that.” I manage, pushing myself up into a sitting position. He laughs and extends a hand out to me. <br/>“I would, very much so. But this is about your endurance and man, you suck.” He says while helping me stand up. <br/>“What did you expect? You are on a horse, I’m supposed to out run that?” <br/>“Yes, or at the very least find a way to escape. If Sweden is pursuing you on horseback, how are you going to out maneuver him?” <br/>“Take off my clothes and blend into the snow.” I joke. He laughs again and gives me a powerful pat on the back. <br/>“Holy Rome never told me you were funny. Let’s get back to camp.” <br/>He mounts his horse then pats the space in front of him. I roll my eyes. <br/>“I’d rather walk.” <br/>“Suit yourself, snow bunny.” He gives me a wink before riding off toward the camp. I smile to myself and head the same direction. <br/>By the time I reach the outskirts of the camp, the sun has fully dipped down underneath the horizon. The moonlight is dim but I’ve never had a problem with seeing in the dark. As I walk through the camp I notice a man standing out by the fire. Curious, I approach him and eventually identify him as the Russian Empire. <br/>“Beautiful night.” I say. <br/>“It is.” He answers simply. <br/>“How’s your arm?” I ask, looking at the sling around his right arm. <br/>“A little sore. Should be better by tomorrow.” <br/>“That’s a little optimistic, don’t you think?” <br/>“Little optimism never hurt anyone.” He says with a smile. I smile back and give him a soft pat on the back.<br/>“Have a good night.” I say while walking toward Denmark’s tent. <br/>“You as well.” <br/>“Took you long enough.” Denmark comments as I walk in. <br/>“Not everyone has the privilege to make a horse do all their work.”<br/>“Hmm, I don’t make him do all my work.” He says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I laugh and he kisses my cheek. <br/>“We should really get some rest.” <br/>He lets me go and plops down onto the makeshift bed. <br/>“I can’t get rest with you here.” <br/>“Stop that, we have an important battle tomorrow. We might even have the chance to finally turn this around.” I end on a serious note, causing him to sit up and sigh. <br/>“I know, I’m nervous.” <br/>“You shouldn’t be, we’ve been training for months for this. Even if he beats us we will be ready again in no time.” <br/>“It’s not the prospect of fighting Sweden that has me nervous. . . It’s the possibility of seeing Norway again. What if he has her fighting? I couldn’t hurt her, even if she was trying to kill me, I wouldn’t lay a hand on her.” I sit down next to him and place a comforting hand on his knee. “How did you do it? Fight someone you love?” He asks. <br/>“It’s not easy but. . . When you’re out there and the fight means your freedom or the subjugation of your people you’d be surprised how hard your punches can land.” <br/>His look turns sympathetic and he pulls me into a hug. <br/>“I’m so sorry you had to do that. . . But you’re here now. Fuck Austria and the Holy Roman Empire, we’re your family now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 29th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s so quiet in the morning, early, before the sun peaks over the tall mountains. A soft wind blows to the east, rustling a few leaves and cooling the air. My eyes remain locked onto the forest floor below me, as I placed myself in one of the smaller trees to get a better range. With no sun and no moon eliminating the sky and the trees blocking any light from the manor, the interior of this little plot of forest is practically pitch black. But I have a knack for seeing in the dark. Unlike my prey. <br/>His eyes are light blue, not as hardy as brown eyes and definitely not as special as mine. He must rely on sound and smell only. I would include touch, but by the time he is close enough to touch me he will be done for. <br/>I will admit, he has gotten a lot better at watching where he steps. The light rustling of leaves from the wind is throwing me off. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. Perhaps he is standing west of me. . . No. . . Clever boy. This will be harder than I thought. <br/>I can’t be too hasty, or too impatient, however the night is my advantage. Once the sun begins shining over the mountains, I will have the disadvantage, as I’m extremely photophobic. I’d guess that I have about an hour or two left of complete darkness. If I’m going to catch him, now is the time. <br/>Quietly, I descend from the tree and softly place myself on the ground. Scanning the forest vigilantly, I slowly move about the terrain in an arc shape. If I can get him to stand west of me, I’ll be able to pinpoint where he is due to the wind. <br/>As I make my little arc, a heavy rustling catches my attention. I look to the left and notice a large stick settling on the ground. My mistake. I can hardly turn to the right fast enough to face what will be coming at me. <br/>Nothing. <br/>Perhaps an animal moved the stick, I think for only a millisecond before an overwhelming feeling of danger floods my body. Clever boy. <br/>An arm wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground, a hand comes up to my mouth to silence me. Not that anyone would hear my screams anyway. I try to fight but it’s futile. I’m not even touching the ground, I can’t use anything to help me. <br/>My heart is pounding from the utter surprise. I’m proud, but also shocked. <br/>I’m rudely dropped to the forest floor and I fall ungracefully, as I wasn’t expecting it. The air is knocked out of me right when the sun begins to peak over the mountains. By the time I can breathe again I’m being straddled with my wrists pinned. <br/>“And you’re dead.” He says to me, light blue eyes looking down at me. <br/>“Well it’s about damn time.” I answer, regaining my composure, “We’ve been doing this exercise for how many decades and this is your first time catching me?” I tease. <br/>“Is that your weird way of telling me you’re proud? You can’t honestly be surprised that the great Empire of Germany got the better of you.” He says while letting go of my wrists and sitting back on me. <br/>“I am proud. With a teacher like me you were bound to reach awesome levels of skill. . . Now get off of me, you're heavy.” I say while lightly pushing him. He just smiles at me. <br/>“And what if I say no? Will you actually be able to move me?” He teases. <br/>“Yes, I would be, and you wouldn’t like it so I suggest you move.” I threaten. <br/>“Oh really? I’d like to see you try.” <br/>“Stubborn as ever.” I comment while giving his chest a firm push. He almost loses his balance and ends up on all fours over me. I use the gap between our bodies to bend my left knee and place it on his stomach. His eyes widen a bit at his sensitive position and moves off of me before I can hurt him. He rolls onto his back next to me and laughs. <br/>“Okay, okay, I got the message.” He says. <br/>“I warned you.” I laugh. <br/>I take a deep breath and stare up at the trees, watching the sun slowly illuminate the sky. Germany props himself up on one elbow and looks at me. I turn my head to look at him. <br/>“What?” I ask, noticing his look has changed. He's given me this look before, but I’ve always brushed it off or looked away. It makes me nervous, honestly. Holy Rome used to look at me like that. <br/>He answers me by gently cupping my cheek and the pounding in my chest has returned. Leaning forward, he places his lips on mine and my eyes widen considerably. What do I do? What do I do?  <br/>I let him kiss me, and for a moment I allow myself to enjoy it. But I can’t help but feel this isn’t right. I practically raised this kid, not to mention he can’t be any older than physically sixteen. I think about all the times Holy Rome used his position of power over me in less than innocent ways, and the last thing I want to be like is him. But Germany kissed me, I didn’t start any of this. He’s the one who gives me those looks, and tries to kiss and touch me, not the other way around. . . Still, I probably shouldn’t let this happen. . . He should explore these feelings with nations closer to his physical age like Italy or Czechia, or even Slovakia or Romania if he prefers boys. . . We all live in the same manor, It’s not like I’m the only other person that he can explore this with. . .Maybe if he was older and I wasn’t the first, I’d revisit the possibility of a romantic relationship between us but. . . Not now. <br/>I push him away and give him an incredulous look. He immediately blushes and looks down. <br/>“I am not the person to be doing that to.” Is all I can manage. <br/>“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. . .” He says meekly. <br/>“I know you’re getting older, and probably feeling certain things. . . I don’t mind you exploring that, it’s healthy to do so, just not with me. Our relationship is closest to that of student and teacher, father and son if you prefer.” <br/>He nods but still won’t look at me. This will probably be awkward for a little while. <br/>“There are four other nations your age in that manor, I’m sure that you like at least one of them.” I reassure. He nods again, still looking down. <br/>I stand up and so does he. <br/>I think I handled that well. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 30th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I try to put weight on my left leg but it crumbles immediately, pain erupting up my body and causing me to hold onto the wall. I was walking back from the bathroom when I ran into the Soviet Union. He abused me verbally for some time, but got irritated when I just threw it back at him. He resorted to something I could never match him in, physical strength, and perhaps broke my ankle. <br/>I’m trying to limp back to my holding cell that the allies so graciously left insecure enough for me to escape. . . The pain is great. <br/>“Ah.” I wince as I take another step. <br/>“Do you need help?” <br/>I turn and see Canada standing there, young eyes looking at me brightly. <br/>“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” I manage in shitty English. <br/>“Okay. Let’s walk back, shall we?” He says, gesturing for me to keep walking. I sigh and look forward, steeling myself to pretend like nothing is wrong. I take a step and bite my lip, only limping slightly as we walk. <br/>“Did someone let you out?” He asks. <br/>“I found one.” I admit. <br/>“Hm.” He comments. <br/>Each new step brings me greater pain, searing hot sensations, weak footings. I’ve never been able to handle pain well. <br/>“Ahh.” I moan before losing the strength in my leg. He catches me, and I push him away. <br/>“Don’t touch me.” I say breathlessly. <br/>“Would you have liked to fall to the ground?” He asks. <br/>“I’m fine.” <br/>“Clearly you’re not. I’m not here to hurt you, nor tease you about your circumstances. I am here to help those who are injured, that is my job. I had plenty of chances to do what I wanted with you when Russia brought you back from Berlin, and all I did was bring you back from the brink of death. Let me help you.” <br/>I sigh. <br/>“Fine.” I give in. <br/>He helps me walk into the infirmary and sits me down on a bed. I look around and notice it is completely empty. <br/>“Where is everyone?” I ask while he kneels down in front of me. <br/>“Transferred. The war is over so now we have to try and get everyone home. . . Not really an easy feat.” He says while lifting up my pant leg. I look down and see that my ankle is already swollen and purple. “What did you do?” <br/>“I fell.” I lie. He gives me a quizzical look but ends up getting to work on my ankle, no further questions asked. He gently wraps my leg and I stare at his face. He’s young, like Germany, maybe around eighteen or nineteen. He’s very attractive, which comes at no surprise since he took after France. He would have fit in very well at the Versailles court. He looks up at me then quickly looks back down, blush spreading across his face. This causes me to smirk. <br/>“How old are you?” I ask. <br/>“Physically? Or really?” <br/>“Both.” <br/>“Uh. Seventeen and two hundred and forty-seven.” <br/>“How old is your brother?” <br/>“Twenty physically and the same as me really.” <br/>“Why are you younger, if you are the same?” I ask. <br/>“I. . . I’m still under the Empire. . . How old are you?” He asks, probably to get the focus off of him. <br/>“Twenty-seven, and seven hundred and fifty.” I say, trying not to cringe at how bad my accent is.<br/>“Wow.” He comments, smiling a bit. <br/>“You’re awfully cute.” I say in a bid to fluster him. His blush deepens and he looks back down at my ankle. <br/>“Th-thanks. .” <br/>I take off my coat and place it next to me on the bed. If I really want to flirt with this young North American nation I probably shouldn’t do it with a bunch of Nazi symbolism all over me. Not that it doesn’t make me a Nazi anymore but. . .<br/>I have this ability I want to use on him. To make it work he needs to look at me. <br/>“America said that I had brown eyes. . . Is that true?” I ask. He looks up into my eyes and before he can tell me that they are not brown he gets lost in them. I’ve had this ability for almost as long as I can remember, and now after many centuries of using it I can get even the strongest of wills to bend to mine. He remains kneeled in front of me, in a hypnotic like trance, as I search his eyes. There is a lot to them. I see joy, peace, knowledge, empathy. . . But there is something else. A great sadness behind it all. . . There is so much anguish, depressive episodes, heartbreak, loneliness. . . <br/>My eyes begin to water as I feel what he feels. I am incredibly interested in him. . . It would seem that I have only hypnotized myself. <br/>I look away, breaking the trance. He blinks a few times, a bit disorientated. <br/>“There is a lot more to you than this, huh?” I ask. <br/>“Um. . . I suppose.” He answers while standing up. I stand as well, using only my right leg. He’s a bit taller than me but I can still easily place my lips onto his. He accepts immediately and before I know it we are lying back on the bed, intertwined with one another. Normally, I’d want to straddle him and pin his wrists down, show him that I have this reputation for naught. But, considering our situation, I think it would be better for me not to do that. And besides, the way his lips on my neck and his hand on my hip feel I’m not sure I could. <br/>He pulls me closer to him and I shudder in his embrace, barely registering any coherent thought as his mouth devastates my throat. I suppose he got his mother’s talent for knowing exactly what to do to other peoples bodies. <br/>I’m trying to think about what ‘bruise’ is in English, but I have no idea. It’s probably too late to tell him I bruise easy anyway, I bet I already have a few. <br/>Reaching down in between us, I grasp his cock through his pants, causing him to gasp against my neck. A smirk marks my face as I notice how sensitive he is to my touch, rolling his hips, arching his back. <br/>“I wish I was this sensitive.” I comment in a teasing manner. <br/>“I achieve it through lack of human contact.” He answers, voice airy. “People tend to forget that I-I exist.” <br/>I take my hand away from him and sit up. <br/>“How could they?” I ask. <br/>“I don’t know. . . I’m quiet, far-away.” He offers. <br/>“I’d never forget you.” I say. A little cheesy, sure, but the smile on his face makes it worth it. He pulls me back down and kisses me again, this time with a lot more vigor. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>October 31st, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can’t stop shivering. No matter how tired my muscles get, they refuse to stop shaking, refuse to relax so I could at least get some sleep. The grass is cold and wet underneath me and my skin has long exploded in goose bumps. <br/>As the sun rises I guess that I’ll be plunged into full sunlight in less than thirty minutes. I’m excited to feel the warmth on my skin, but I know that just fifteen minutes in direct sunlight will start to burn me. <br/>Of course the reasonable response to this would be to get up and move into the shade, or go inside, but I am unable to do that. My wrists are bound tightly together above my head and held into place by a peg that was stuck deep into the ground. Each ankle has the same treatment, spreading my legs a bit and holding them down. . .<br/>The worst part about this is they took all of my clothes, so nothing except for my back will be safe from the heinous rays of the sun. Of course they did this on purpose. And honestly, I don’t blame them. <br/>I was outside getting water from one of the wells when some of the other Eastern European countries stuck here jumped me. I recognized Poland but I honestly couldn’t place any of the others. Not that it matters, I know they all despise me. <br/>Warmth begins to spread on my legs as the sunlight slowly crawls up my body. Once it reaches my face I close my eyes and groan. I’m extremely photophobic. <br/>The rays feel really good for a couple of minutes, warming up my cold body and soothing my sore muscles. Yet, perhaps about twenty minutes or so in the light, I can feel my skin beginning to burn and tingle. I’m unsure of what to do. How long will they leave me out here? I can get severely burned. . . Die, even. But can I really blame them? Their hatred toward me is justified. . . Reasonable. <br/>I shift and pull on my restraints with no luck. The sunlight burns practically every inch of my body, and the pain starts to mess with me. <br/>“Ahh, fuck.” I moan in pain. <br/>My face is shaded from the light and I cautiously open my eyes, finding Lithuania standing next to me. <br/>“They're getting real creative.” He comments. <br/>“Yeah. . . This one is rather painful, though.” I say through clenched teeth.  <br/>“Serves you right.” <br/>“I know. . .” I sigh out. <br/>“You’re starting to get really red. . . Geez, they could have at least put something over your lap, how cruel.” I’m not sure if he is teasing me or is genuinely concerned. . . I’d guess the former. <br/>“If you’re just going to stand there and mock me you might as well leave.” I say rather harshly. <br/>“Oh, fine.” He says, stepping aside and allowing the sun to shine in my eyes again. <br/>“Ow, fuck!” <br/>He laughs and I groan. Like being held captive by Russia isn’t enough, I also get to be relentlessly bullied by Eastern Europe. <br/>“Alright. . . I will admit that this is kind of messed up. I know that the forties were insane but, it’s been a decade,” he says while bending down and pulling the pegs out of the ground, “what you did was fucked, but fighting evil with evil never gets anyone anywhere.” <br/>He helps me move over to the shade of a nearby tree and I sigh in relief, laying back down. He gives me his jacket and I give him a strange look. <br/>“You should hate me the most.” I say. He smiles. <br/>“Yeah, well, I’m tired of hating. I’ve lived too damn long to hate those who have done me wrong.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 1st, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His face finally relaxes, lavender eyes hopelessly lost in mine. I expected horror, and that’s what I saw, yes, but there was something else. A kind boy, one who has too much love to give. One who yearns for that love in return. Someone who has seen so much. High highs, low lows, no time for relaxing, no time for mediocre. So many he has loved, so few have actually loved him in return. He’s constantly betrayed. That’s why he’s so bitter. <br/>I push him away from me and he blinks a few times. <br/>“Sorry.” I say softly. <br/>“For the push or the mind-fuck?” He asks. <br/>“Both.” I answer simply, noticing the light snowfall around us. <br/>“Don’t pity me.” <br/>I cautiously walk up to him, intimidated by our extreme height difference. He looks down at me and lifts an eyebrow, perhaps amused. <br/>“It’s too late for that.” I say a bit sympathetically. He rolls his eyes, fluttering his eyelids as he does so. <br/>“I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. I’m not some helpless little boy who has never felt the love of a mother or lover. I’ve had plenty of opportunities, plenty of chances to be like you, or France, or America. Didn’t you have to pass something so unspeakably dark just to get to what you wanted to see in me?”  <br/>Always so angsty, he is. I smile a bit and look off to the horizon. <br/>“Do you tell yourself that so you feel better about what has happened to you? That you somehow deserve this, because you are this dark and evil monster? Why do you surround yourself with all of that darkness?” I ask, not really expecting a real answer, but hoping to convey to him that his mask doesn’t work on me. I look back at him to gauge his reaction and he seems speechless. Maybe a little surprised that I was so forward with him. He looks down, eyebrows raised. <br/>“I don’t know what to say to that. . . I just. . . It’s been a long life, Gilbert, I’m no longer disillusioned by hope, love, and happiness. It’s always been conditional for me. I’ve loved a lot of you dumb nations throughout my life, and I just can’t hold on to it. They always. . .” He looks toward the horizon as the sun sets behind the distant mountains. The late afternoon hue gives him a youthful glow and smooths out his skin. His eyes have deepened to a mulberry shade, or even perhaps a light plum. Their watery look gives them a lot more depth than that steely pale lavender. “Die. . . Or find some fault in me to hate.” He finishes. <br/>“Well, I’m not going to die anytime soon.” I hope out loud. <br/>“Perhaps, sometime in the future, you will be so haunted by what I have done to you, and what you have seen here, that you will no longer be able to recognize the world around you for what it is. No matter how hard you try, no matter how ‘nice’ I am. . . It’ll never erase the hell I put you through. . .” His eyes water dangerously close to tears and I furrow my eyebrows into a concerned look. I never expected him to open up like this to me. . .<br/>“And. . . Maybe you won after all. . . I hate you so much for what you have taken from me, and what I was forced to do just to survive and I wanted to. . . I want to punish you for eternity for all of that, for betraying me and doing the same damn thing I was going to do. .  For being something I could never be. . . And you go and make me fall in love with you, and I can never take back what I did.” <br/>His confession surprises me the most. Sure, lately, we have been expressing romantic feelings for each other but. . . Love? This complicates the relationships between everyone in the house. For a while, Lithuania and I have been clinging to each other for comfort, allowing for the Baltics to not only forgive me but learn to like me. Trust me, even. Belarus loves, and this is rather clear, Russia with all her heart but he couldn’t be less impressed. She would be a formidable enemy to have in the house if she caught wind of this. . . Lithuania would not only be hurt, but destroyed. Not because we are exclusive, but rather he would never understand how I could love someone like Russia. . . It may cut off the only support I have in the house. Returning Russia’s feelings would be hell for me in more ways than one. I’d be isolated and hated again. And to top it all off, Russia could tire of me or switch back to solely hating me and I’d be back to square one. <br/>“Well, you could at least pretend not to look so horrified.” He says, breaking me out of my internal thought. <br/>“I’m sorry I just. . . It’s not that I don’t care for you. . . I do. . . I. . . It’s not possible, or healthy.” <br/>“I know but. . . You fished it from me, don’t act innocent. You have a great power with those eyes, but you must know by now that you could find things you may have wished never to see.” <br/>“I know. . .” I say softly. By now, the sun has completely set, only the light from the distant torches eliminate our area. “I was just excited that it finally worked on you.” <br/>“You should do that to America.” Russia comments before turning and heading back toward the lighted path. <br/>“I have once before, many, many, years ago. I’m not sure I’d be able to do it to him now.” I say while catching up to him. <br/>“Oh, are you trying to say I’m weaker?” <br/>“No, no, not at all I just. . . Maybe you had your guard down today.” I backtrack. <br/>He just laughs at my stuttering. <br/>“You’re fine, I’m just messing with you.” He reassures. <br/>I sigh out. Going to have to get used to that. <br/>I look ahead down the small path and feel a weird weight press down into my chest. I stop walking as I feel my head become light. <br/>“Are you alright?” He asks. <br/>“. . . I.” It’s like every thought I have is being ripped from me, like my mind is being whisked away to some other place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 2nd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s blurry. I’m lying on white sheets, not to mention the insufferable pounding in my head. It’s hard to tell where I am. . . Where was I last?<br/>With difficulty I sit up and notice the IV in my arm. No. No. Get it out. <br/>I pull it out, wincing as I do so. Maybe I could have done that softer. <br/>The door opens and I look up, eyes meeting Canada’s. <br/>“You’ve always been a difficult patient.” He says a bit exasperated, rushing over to the first aid kit then to me. <br/>“Sorry. . . I don’t have the best experiences with waking up to an IV.” I say meekly as I watch him clean and wrap my arm. <br/>“No, don’t be sorry, I shouldn’t be so rude.” He says in a much softer tone. “You have no idea how happy I am that you are awake. . . Though you should really stop pulling IVs out.” <br/>He looks me in the eye and I swallow thickly. <br/>“Did I pass out or something?” I ask. <br/>“Yes. . . For six days. Right when I thought you were getting better. . . It looks like you aren’t out of the woods yet.” <br/>“. . .” I look down at the bed sheets. Six days?. . . <br/>“Hey, hey, look at me.” I blink a few times and look at him. “Focus on the things around you, keep yourself grounded.” He says. <br/>“Uh, alright.” <br/>I decided to look into his eyes, and as I do so I find myself rather curious about what they hold now. But much to my dismay, I can’t get into them. He doesn’t get lost in mine. He just looks to the side then back at me before furrowing his eyebrows. <br/>“You alright there?” He asks a bit awkwardly. <br/>“Yeah, sorry. . . You have nice eyes.” I recover. I notice a small blush forming on his cheeks as he shyly looks away. <br/>“Thank you. . . yours are a nice shade of brown.” <br/>“Brown?” I ask. <br/>“Yeah,” he looks back into my eyes, “like a russet brown kind of color.”<br/>“Do you have a mirror?” I ask, not sure if I believe him. <br/>“Um, yeah in the bathroom. . . Do you not believe me?” He asks, laughter in his voice. <br/>“I don’t.” I say, attempting and failing at getting up. <br/>“Okay, okay, I’ll bring you a small one.” He offers, standing up and disappearing from the room. <br/>A few seconds later he comes back into the room and hands me a small handheld mirror. As I look into it I first notice how old I look. Ugh. Like many years over thirty. . . My hair is a lot thinner than I remember. . . Oh, my eyes. . . So brown and dead. . . Even my thin ass hair looks dead and gray. <br/>“When the hell did I get so ugly.” I think aloud, causing Canada to laugh. <br/>“You are not ugly, just sick.” He says before taking the mirror away from me. <br/>I sigh deeply and look out of the window. Whether or not I was attractive before was highly debatable, and I knew that, and it never bothered me. . . I guess it’s just weird seeing something else than what you are used to stare back at you in the mirror. <br/>“Will I get better?” I ask. <br/>“I have faith that you will. . . However it seems highly contingent on Russia. I got a call from Ukraine the day you passed out informing me that he fell unconscious as well.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Wretch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one is a bit long! But it is my favorite chapter so far, I absolutely love writing Russia. . . Oh yeah, this one is in Russia's POV. . . Not to worry, Prussia will be back in the next chapter! I have plans to write a chapter in Germany's perspective as well, so that'll be coming soon. Anyway, please enjoy! And if you read this story please review! I love hearing what you all have to say about it!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunday, November 3rd, 1991 - 52 days until Christmas </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why do I do this to myself? If the outcome is the same every day, why do I keep doing it? Do I think that someday I’ll have enough self-control to not drink so much? Or that my body will be able to handle it and I’ll wake up all bright eyed and bushy tailed, headache free?<br/>
Why would I leave the curtains open?<br/>
I feel like my head is being ripped apart, stabbed multiple times, set on fire, then whatever remains is being blown away by a violent blizzard wind. At least I don’t feel nauseous. Yet.<br/>
I roll over on to my side and slowly open my eyes, head throbbing harder as the light in my room attacks me. I would just stay in bed for another hour or so, but unfortunately I need to get up. Not just because I have obligations but also because I’m not sure how much longer my bladder can take laying here until it bursts.<br/>
Last night is a blur, obviously, but it would seem I wasn’t thinking straight. When am I ever thinking straight?<br/>
I manage sitting up and opening my eyes again. The bathroom is like, six steps away from me, but even that seems impossible. Am I really about to weigh the pros and cons of getting up versus staying here and doing the inevitable? It’s not like it’d be the first time. . .<br/>
I probably should stop drinking so much. . .<br/>
Eck, like this’ll stop me. I’m alone in this house, the only person who would know is me, and I know it’s happened before, so what’s the harm of adding another accident to my list of shitty things that happen to me because of my drinking?<br/>
I don’t want to though.<br/>
I could only imagine having to get up anyway to wash these sheets and clean the floor. . . How long do I plan on sitting in it?<br/>
I hate this line of thought, I’m embarrassing myself.<br/>
I’m weak. Sure, mentally, yeah yeah, that’s a given. But also physically. I’ve been getting weaker and weaker with each passing day, and let’s make this clear: moving a body that is over two meters tall (6’6) is hell. Especially when said body used to weigh one hundred and twenty-two kilograms (270lbs) and now weighs a measly eighty-four (187lbs). I can see bones I haven’t seen since I was a preteen. Ribs, wrists, hips, ankles. . . Yikes.<br/>
I grip the side of the bed harder as a sharp pain stabs me in my abdomen. I don’t really have much time. I have to make a decision.<br/>
I try not to think too much about what others would think of me in situations like this. If Ukraine was here, she would try to help me. Bless her heart, even after everything she’d insist on helping me. Belarus. . . Ugh, she’d probably think this was cute or something. She likes seeing weakness in me because that means she can ‘nurse me back to health’ and then I would ‘love her with all my heart’. Lithuania would probably laugh. . . Honestly, they would all probably laugh. It is rather funny. The humor is not lost on me.<br/>
I use the bed to help me stand up, and I almost fall over. The gravity acting on me now makes this situation a million times worse and I’m tempted to just let go. But I don’t want to.<br/>
Maybe I should try a little harder to retain some sort of dignity.<br/>
I was. . . I am a superpower damnit, I shouldn’t be withering away like this! I should be stronger. . .<br/>
A few uneasy steps brings me to the open bathroom door.<br/>
To think, this race is the one I’m trying desperately not to lose. I seem to be good at losing races. Arms. Space. Now the fucking bathroom. Does anyone even actually believe that he got to the goddamn moon?<br/>
I grip the side of the bathroom counter as all my concentration must be used for the task at hand. I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate for something in my life. . .<br/>
Well. . .<br/>
That’s not true. I want a lot of things. I desperately yearn for a lot of things. I can never seem to get them though, and if by some slim chance I do they’re conditional. Sure, you can be the first nation in all of human history to reach space, but you also can’t have food for most of your population and life sucks for everyone. Sure, you can be a superpower, the biggest empire this world has ever seen, but also everyone hates you and you are constantly alone no matter how full your house is. And sure, you can finally have a currency worth more than the American dollar, but you also have to die a horrible death that rips everything you’ve ever worked for apart right in front of you while everyone laughs and celebrates, and you are left struggling with the worlds fullest bladder and hardly functioning motor capabilities to get to a bathroom not even two steps away.<br/>
Oh, eat your heart out Shakespeare, my life is the ultimate comedic tragedy.<br/>
Is that my problem? Hubris?. . . I would think America and hubris before me and hubris anytime of the day. Maybe it is one of my many faults. . .<br/>
Would I have hubris if I accepted the fact that I’m deeply flawed and broken? I’m not that confident. . . Obviously. . . Not anymore at least. I had my strutting days, filled with imperial expansion, war, glory, and a beautiful French woman at my side. Let me say: going around the court of Versailles with France on your arm really does something to a man's ego. She made me feel very loved, and oh I loved her in return. Maybe a little too much. That really came back to bite me with Napoleone. . . My court knew French better than Russian. . . She didn’t let me forget that fact.<br/>
I’m a little surprised at my success, really, I am. I thought I wasn’t going to have a choice here. I quickly undo my belt and zipper and in a matter of seconds find the blissful relief I have waited too long for.<br/>
“Oh my god. . .”<br/>
Why does it feel this good? I swear I’ll never drink again. . .<br/>
That’s a lie. I’ll probably drink again tonight honestly. . . Especially since I have a meeting with America at the end of the week. . . I wonder what he would think of me right now? If he saw me moaning over the bathroom in utter bliss because I drank myself to oblivion last night and woke up just in time to do this?. . . I’m not sure what he’d think. Laugh maybe? . . . Feel bad. . . He’d probably feel bad for me. He has so much pity for me it’s disgusting and patronizing.<br/>
God this is a lot, how much did I drink? How am I even alive? What the fuck is my liver made out of? I should have exploded a long time ago.<br/>
I should really stop drinking. . .<br/>
But I’m not. Even a lack of proper alcohol won’t stop me.<br/>
The Spirit of Geneva anyone? This cocktail of death includes White Lilac, Athlete’s Foot Remedy, Zhiguli Beer and Alcohol Varnish. . . That’s not half bad. . . what about the recipe for the Tear? Lavender Toilet Water, Verbena, Herbal Lotion, Nail Polish, Mouthwash, and Lemon soda.<br/>
How about the most impressive cocktail? The Bitches’ Brew consists of Zhiguli Beer, Shampoo, Dandruff Treatment, Athlete’s Foot Remedy, and Small bug Killer. That one is soaked in cigar tobacco for a while. . . Yum. That’ll do it. . . Again I ask: What the fuck is my liver made out of?<br/>
Finally my whole body is empty and relaxed. I turn on the shower then find myself staring into the mirror.<br/>
Have my eyes ever held any light? What does happiness look like on me?<br/>
I’ve been happy before, but that was so long ago I hardly know the emotion anymore. How nice would it be to go back. I just want to go back for a little while so I can find peace and happiness again. Before the Soviet Union, before the Revolution, before Catherine, before Peter, before even Ivan for crying out loud. . . Before the death of the Byzantine Empire, before the Yoke. . . Before I met China. . . That point in time. When I was a boy. That’s where I want to go. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 4th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s coming. I can feel it in my lungs as they tighten, my heart as it slows. How I struggle just to walk up the stairs, leaning against the banister, coughing out of breath. I can taste blood on my tongue as I open my bedroom door and stumble in. Anxiety bubbles in my chest as I rummage through my dresser drawers.<br/>
Where is it?<br/>
I look over the shelves, in the nightstand, check the dresser one more time as my chest throbs in pain. Finally, tucked away in a small box I find it. An old metal cross, colored bronze with time. I put it on and hold the small symbol in my hand.<br/>
Many decades ago I cast this away. Tore down the symbols, blew up the churches, banned it. Communism would be the new religion, the new order to follow and believe in. . . I was foolish to think it would work. Look at me now, clinging to this past thing that used to mean so much to me in more ways than one. My culture was helplessly bound around orthodoxy and honestly it probably still is. I know that I am. Maybe we will be still after all of this, we have to be.<br/>
I make my way over to the bed and lie down, right hand never ceasing its grip on the cross.<br/>
I’m not scared to die. I welcome it. Come for me, take me away from this life, I’ve lived long enough, I’ve done enough. To finally rest. Finally not be bothered or tormented, end this silly competition that has ruined me so.<br/>
I couldn’t imagine a wretch like me having a happy ending, and I was foolish to think I could. That anything remotely good in my life would ever last or bring me some sort of peace. And love? What a joke, a horrible, horrible joke.<br/>
Prussia is hopeless, driven mad by what has happened to him here. How could I have ever thought that he could love me? How truly pathetic. He used to strike fear into the hearts of anyone he looked at. He used to stand so tall, used to be so sure of himself. I can remember that signature smirk, that smooth tongue that could get him out of any situation, his unbeatable combat, his ability to hunt anything down. I can even remember before the 1600s when he was a priest of the Catholic Church. He was kind then, pious, bright, trusting, hopelessly devoted to the Holy Roman Empire. It’s hard to imagine that that same little kingdom was capable of what he did in the thirties and forties. True evil. And now he is just a husk of what he used to be. . .<br/>
Before him I had loved China, but she did not return my feelings. She thought of me as a little brother and nothing more. I guess I know now how Belarus feels. It hurt when China cut all contact with me. . . She still doesn’t talk to me. . . Even now when I am dying. . . She has yet to say anything to me. We have been through so much together I thought I meant at least something to her. I guess not.<br/>
Before the revolution I had a small fling with Austria. I couldn’t imagine that he loved me, and I didn’t love him, but it was interesting. It was one of his famous marriage proposals, his attempt to tie the Russian monarchy with his. I accepted, feeling like I had made it. Finally, they considered me European, they considered me one of them. I had tried so hard since Peter the Great to be a part of the exclusive club of Europe, and like the damn curse of my life this proposal sowed the seeds to my downfall. The child that was born from the human union was weak, the mother hopelessly devoted to saving him. I could practically taste the Revolution.<br/>
France was before him. She was and still is something very special to me, even if it has been easy for her to forget our history. My time with her was surreal, fairytale-like, her arm wrapped around mine as we walked through Versailles. . . I still can’t believe that happened to me. I remember England looking at us and rolling his eyes, calling me barbaric. She would defend me until he was blue in the face. She made me feel like someone worth loving. Unfortunately I hurt her. I betrayed her, switching sides in a war, and she couldn’t forgive me for that. She ended our relationship and made me pay hefty reparations for what I did. England approached me after the war probably to gloat. But like his arrogant son, he felt pity for me and ended up trying to cheer me up. Two-faced snake.<br/>
And before her. . .<br/>
I loved all that I have mentioned above save Austria with all my heart, truly and hopelessly so, but one still remains the love of my life above all the rest.<br/>
Before France was the Byzantine Empire. He gave me the cross I am currently holding in my hand. He is the only person to love me unconditionally. He never stopped. He loved me until the end of his life. He gave me culture, religion, written language, and recognition. He saw a light in me that no one else could, brought out a good part of me. When he died I lost that light. . . Maybe, just maybe, if I die now I could see him again. That would be a happy ending. Off in some after-life, holding one another for eternity. That’ll never happen, but I like to think that that is what is waiting for me on the other side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 5th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this what we will always come home to?”<br/>
“He’s just sleeping, Natasha, I don't think he’s drunk this time.”<br/>
“I saw the empty bottle on the counter Katyusha. I'm not clueless.”<br/>
I open my eyes and sigh.<br/>
“That’s been empty for a while.” I say, startling both of them.<br/>
“Oh, Vanya!” Nataliya exclaims, rushing over to the bed and jumping in, holding me tight.<br/>
“Nataliya! Get off of me.” I try. She just holds me tighter.<br/>
“I missed you so much! England is horrible! He’s so pompous and self-righteous! He dared to criticize the Union!” She says, burying her face into my neck.<br/>
“Katya, get her.” I say, tensing at her action.<br/>
“Nataliya, come on, leave him alone. If you want to help him, why don’t you start some breakfast?”<br/>
Nataliya looks up from the bed.<br/>
“That is a good idea. Look at how thin you are Ivan, almost lanky.” She gets up and makes her way down the stairs. I sit up and sigh.<br/>
“Thank you.”<br/>
“She just cares for you, is all. You could be a little less cold.” Katyusha comments while pulling out some clothes from my dresser.<br/>
“If I showed her any affection she would never leave me alone. It’s best to be distant.” I say while she hands me the clothes.<br/>
“Perhaps. Come on, I’ll start the shower for you.” She walks into the bathroom and I sigh.<br/>
Eventually I follow her in and she turns to look at me.<br/>
“You really are thin. Do you not eat when no one is here to cook for you?” She asks.<br/>
“I eat plenty.”<br/>
“It is obvious that you do not. I’ll only be here for a few hours, so one meal is all you get from me.”<br/>
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.<br/>
“Doing what?”<br/>
“Ekaterina.”<br/>
“. . . Because it has always been my job to take care of you and Nataliya. Who else will? Who else will make sure that you are still alive and taken care of? I am bound to you whether I like it or not, so undress and take a shower. I’ll be downstairs helping Nat with breakfast.” She walks past me and exits the room. I sigh and lean on the wall.<br/>
[][][][][][][][][][][]<br/>
“You’re wearing it again?” Katya asks as I walk into the kitchen.<br/>
“Wearing what?”<br/>
“The cross.”<br/>
“. . . I am.” I answer.<br/>
“Does that mean you are thinking about him?” Nataliya pouts.<br/>
“Nat!” Katya scolds.<br/>
“What? I’m just asking a question! Obviously Vanya has that ancient empire on his mind, look at the blush on his face.” Nataliya says while smirking at me.<br/>
“I am not blushing, and I am not thinking about the Byzantine Empire, I am simply returning to something I have abandoned.” I say smoothly.<br/>
“Mhm, sure. I never knew what you saw in that Greek man.”<br/>
“He was Roman, Natasha.” Katya comments.<br/>
“Roman, Greek, whatever. They are all the same.” Nat says in a huff.<br/>
I chuckle at this, causing Nataliya to smile.<br/>
“Speaking of old flames, I got a letter from China yesterday.” Katyusha says to me.<br/>
“Really?” I say, trying to feign aloofness.<br/>
“Yes. She wants to meet with you but was unsure if you were angry with her. That’s why she went through me.”<br/>
“I am not upset with her.”<br/>
“Good, because I told her to come over tomorrow.”<br/>
“Tomorrow?” I ask a bit incredulously.<br/>
“Yes. Make your amends.”<br/>
I sigh and sit down at the table. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 6th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. So long, in fact, we have done nothing but remain silent. Occasionally my living room will get to hear the sound of a teacup being picked up then put down. Some food being eaten. A rustling of fabric here. A sigh there.<br/>
“It’s been long.” She says, voice melodious and delicate like the fine china before us. I allow myself to look up at her. Her smooth white skin, glossy black hair, cute red lips. Those bright brown eyes look back at me. Unfortunately, I’m not much to look at these days. I wonder if she’s comparing me to the last Russia she saw. That early 1960s me, who was strapping, youthful, and sharp.<br/>
“It has been. . . It means a lot to me that you were able to meet with me despite your busy schedule.”<br/>
“Me too. I want to be able to put our disagreements in the past.” She says before taking another small sip of the tea.<br/>
“Chun-yan. . .” She looks up at me, surprised by the use of her human name. There is a lot I want to say to her. I’m a bit lost for words. Her powerful look isn’t helping me. “. . . I. . .”<br/>
“No,” she interrupts, setting down her teacup, “it is I who should apologize. Ivan, I’m so sorry. I should have never left you alone like that, or shouted at you the way I did. I pushed away my truest ally, I see that now. I was so scared of the West, that when I saw you talking to them I thought you had betrayed me. And all this time, my greatest friend, we have not spoken because of my foolishness. Can you forgive the foolish errors of an old woman?”<br/>
“I never held any of that against you. Of course I forgive you.” I say, immensely relieved. Rather than happy, or relieved, my forgiveness seems to make her sad. Her eyes begin to water as she stands up and rushes toward me, embracing me tightly.<br/>
“Please, Ivan I don’t want to lose you. I’ve been alive for over four thousand years, my old brittle heart couldn’t take the loss! No one else understands me like you do and. . . I've treated you so horribly for the past thirty years, and in the blink of an eye you forgive me. . . Truly how blind I have been. . .”<br/>
I wrap my arms around her as she snuggles closer to me.<br/>
“It’ll be okay, I’m not going anywhere right now.”<br/>
“I don’t want you to leave. . . Not before me.” She says softly.<br/>
“Well that’s not fair.” I say with a bit of laughter in my voice. She sniffs and looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes.<br/>
“Then together.”<br/>
“Together.” I say while running a hand through her short hair. She smiles and buries her face into my neck.<br/>
Well of course she did that on purpose. And I don’t mind. . . Not one bit.<br/>
“After all of this. . . Can we be friends again?” She asks.<br/>
“I don’t know if there will be an after all of this.” I admit softly.<br/>
“You survived the Yoke, you can survive some economic collapse.”<br/>
“Some? Chun-yun my entire government is falling apart. That is a prerequisite for final death.”<br/>
“Please. . . You’re the only one who understands me, the only person I can connect to. . . I’d be alone.”<br/>
I feel her hold me tighter and I resist the urge to sigh. Perhaps one person may actually miss me. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 7th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I keep all of my chopped wood in a small shed ten minutes from where I live. The snow is deep and heavy, but I know these forests like the back of my hand, and can navigate myself to the little shed easily. As I approach, I notice the door to the shed is slightly open. I take out my knife and slowly close the distance, quietly stepping inside.<br/>
A man and a horse stand in the right corner of the shed. He turns around and smiles at me.<br/>
“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, is this your shed?” He asks in heavily accented Russian.<br/>
“Yes.” I answer, tightening my grip on the knife.<br/>
“I don’t mean to intrude, but my horse and I got separated from our caravan during the storm. I saw this little structure and took shelter. I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion.”<br/>
I relax a bit and leave my knife in my pocket.<br/>
“So you’re a merchant?” I ask, looking over him. He is dressed almost completely in fur, save for his heavy boots. He looks young, maybe twenty or so. His long black hair is braided and pulled forward, his skin is much darker than mine. He looks like he comes from the lands to the southeast.<br/>
“I am. We are headed to the markets in Vienna.”<br/>
“The Holy Roman Empire?”<br/>
“Yes.” He answers before looking around. “Do you live near here?”<br/>
“Yes.” I answer, watching as his eyes trail up and down my body.<br/>
“Are your parents nearby?”<br/>
“They are. My father is near.” I lie, feeling anxious again.<br/>
“He sent you all alone in this storm?”<br/>
“I’m not alone.”<br/>
“It looks like it.” I nervously swallow before taking a step back.<br/>
“I’m sure my parents will be fine with you taking shelter for the night. I need to get back to them now.”<br/>
“You should stay here. That storm is no place for a child.” He says, taking a step toward me.<br/>
“I’ll be fine.”<br/>
“You should really wait it out. Don’t worry, it won’t be long. I have some food with me if you’re hungry.”<br/>
“My father is probably curious about me. I really need to leave.” I say, trying to control the nerves in my voice. He begins taking slow steps toward me and I start walking back. I’m so focused on the space between us that I didn’t realize he was making an arch shape, causing me to make one as well. I find myself blocked from the door to the shed.<br/>
“He’ll understand.” The man says while closing the door a bit, leaving it only slightly ajar. My heart begins to beat on my ribcage as I grip the handle to my knife again.<br/>
“He’s going to come looking for me soon.” My voice cracks and he chuckles.<br/>
“You’re lying to me, aren’t you? There are no parents waiting for you.”<br/>
“What do you want? I already said you can stay here for the night.”<br/>
He starts walking toward me again and I back myself up into the wall.<br/>
“I know exactly who you are, Russia.” My eyes widen and I pull out my knife.<br/>
“Who are you?”<br/>
“I am Mongolia, or Subutai if you prefer. What is your human name?”<br/>
“. . . Ivan.”<br/>
“What a handsome name. . .” He says softly, still approaching me. My hand begins to shake as he comes much too close to me. I try stabbing him with the knife but he knocks my wrist, causing it to fly out of my hand.<br/>
“W-why are you here? What do you want from me?” I stutter out, voice cracking as I panic.<br/>
“I’ve been watching you lately, seeing how small you are. How weak you are. If you join me I could protect you, offer you wealth and comfort like you’ve never known.” He says in a soft voice, reaching forward to drag the back of his hand down my cheek.<br/>
“I don’t need your help, nor your comfort. I value my independence more than a comfortable life.”<br/>
“Come now, don’t be foolish. You can’t even fight me off, let alone speak to me like a man. You’re already trembling in my wake, squeaking as you speak - I could take these worries away from you.”<br/>
“I’m not afraid of you.” I lie. He smiles and comes a little closer.<br/>
“Lair.” He whispers to me before beginning to pat me down. I yelp at his touch and squirm. He finds my other knife and tosses it across the room before returning to my legs. He runs his hands over my thighs, lingering on the inside of them, before feeling up my hips. I’m petrified, frozen in place as his hands feel around my stomach and chest, my arms and back. He loosens my scarf and I try swatting his hands away to no avail.<br/>
“This must be it, huh? Right there.” He says while gently tracing his fingers down the side of my neck. I gasp and push myself further into the wall. I can’t believe this is happening, I don’t know what to do. His other hand trails down my body but stops just before he can reach in between my legs. He looks over to the door of the shed, a suspicious look on his face. I look over as well but see nothing.<br/>
His hands fall away from me and he steps back. I sigh out in relief.<br/>
“So you weren’t here alone after all. . . I’ll be back for you, Ivan. I’ll make you mine.” He rushes over to his horse and leads it out of the shed before mounting and riding off. I remain standing against the wall, trying to make sense of everything. I feel gross. Like my body isn’t mine anymore. My stomach turns and I slide down the wall, curling up into myself. I wish I never came out here to get wood. I could have waited a little longer.<br/>
The door to the shed opens and I hold myself tighter, whimpering at the prospect of Mongolia’s return.<br/>
“Ivan? Are you alright?” Comes a smooth, comforting voice. I look up and see the Byzantine Empire rush over to me. “I was worried, what are you doing sitting here? I thought something bad had happened to you.” He pulls me into a hug and I wrap my arms around him.<br/>
“He was here. . . He was going to do awful things to me but disappeared. . . I’m frightened.” I manage between tears.<br/>
“I’m so sorry, I should have gone with you. I should have been here.”<br/>
He lets me cry into his chest while he softly rubs my back. After some time I calm down and wipe my eyes.<br/>
“I don’t mean to cry.”<br/>
“It’s okay. Crying is nothing to be ashamed of. . . We should go back to the house, I’ll make you something warm to eat.”<br/>
He helps me get back onto my feet and walks me back to my house. I start to feel better as he cares for me, making sure I am warm, fed, and clean.<br/>
He holds me tight in his arms long after the sun has gone down. This is where I feel safest. I know that with his arms around me, nothing can ever dream of hurting me.<br/>
“Theo?”<br/>
“Hm?” He answers, his emerald gaze falling to me.<br/>
“He told me that he was going to come back. . . I’m not strong enough to fight him. If he takes me-”<br/>
“Don’t speak like that.” He interrupts. “I will never let him kill you, I don’t care if my empire wants me to stay out of it.”<br/>
“What if he takes me away? I wouldn’t be able to see you.”<br/>
He kisses my cheek, then my forehead.<br/>
“Our souls are bound. We will always make our way back to one another.” He whispers. I smile and place a soft kiss on his neck. His hand comes to my cheek as he places his lips on mine. I want this so badly. I want to be with him for the rest of my life, for the rest of time. I don’t know what the future will hold for us, so everytime we kiss it’s like the last time. Cause it could be.<br/>
My eyes open and my head pounds. I hate dreaming about my past. Especially when it involves Theodorus. I can feel my eyes begin to water, tears fall down my cheeks as I take in a shaky breath.<br/>
‘We will always make our way back to one another’ rings through my mind as I remember watching him die. His nationhood taken away, that sword plunged through his body, his gentle eyes as he told me he loved me one last time.<br/>
It’s hard to remember what he looked like. I know he had green eyes, but I’m unsure of his hair color. Could have been brown, could have been black. He was taller, stronger, older than me but would he be all those things now? I remember his black cloak. He had curly hair, I remember that, it fell to his shoulders. I’ve long forgotten the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, the happiness he created within me.<br/>
I take another shaky breath, trying to calm myself down. He’s been dead for five hundred and thirty-eight years. . . I shouldn’t feel this strongly still. . .<br/>
‘Our souls are bound’<br/>
‘We will always make our way back to one another’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 8th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck me.” I groan as the phone starts ringing, worsening my headache. No one calls me. No one not important calls me, I should say.  With all the strength I can muster, I pull myself up off the kitchen floor using the counter and reach over toward the wall that has the phone on it. I take it off the receiver.<br/>
“Hallo?”<br/>
“Oh god, you sound like shit.” Comes an irritating American voice.<br/>
“And your voice is as melodious as a screeching preteen. What do you want?” I answer, regretting my effort to pick up the phone.<br/>
“Ugh,” I bet he rolled his eyes here, “anyway, I’ve had some major schedule rearrangements and it just so happens I’ll be in Europe much earlier than I thought. If you’d like, we can meet sooner.”<br/>
I sigh and resist the urge to groan.<br/>
“Didn’t I give you this number for like, emergencies only?”<br/>
“Yeah, but I’ve been getting radio silence from your administration recently. . . This is the next best thing.”<br/>
“Alright, we can meet earlier if you’d like.” At this point, I really don’t care.<br/>
“Perfect, how does later today sound?”<br/>
“Later today? You’re in Europe now?”<br/>
“Well I just got finished with a meeting with Lithuania and I may or may not be calling you from a phone booth.”<br/>
I try not to laugh at the absurdity.<br/>
“Aww, did you memorize my number?” I ask in a fake flattered tone.<br/>
“You’re not that special, I have a photographic memory. . . So are you available to meet tonight or not?”<br/>
“. . . Uh, sure I could move some stuff around.” I lie. I have absolutely nothing going on today.<br/>
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”<br/>
The call ends and I hang the phone back up. Looks like I got some cleaning to do. . . Yay. . .</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Same day, five hours later</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I tense and gasp as a loud knock sounds on my door. The glass I was holding breaks under the pressure of my grip, cutting me and falling to the floor in a million pieces. Fuck. Ow. Shit.<br/>
I grab the towel hanging from the oven and wrap my hand in it before I go and answer the door.<br/>
“You could, and this is just a suggestion, not knock on my door like the fucking police.” I say to the North American nation standing on my porch.<br/>
“Oh, sorry, thought they were rather amicable and kind, like your reports suggest.” He answers. I step aside and allow him to enter the house. Quickly, he notices my towel hand. “What’s with the towel?”<br/>
“I. . . Cut myself.” I admit, not able to think of a believable lie.<br/>
“Let me see.” He offers, stepping toward me. I take a step back and give him a warning look.<br/>
“Why?”<br/>
“Because wrapping a towel around it isn’t going to make it go away. Come on, stop being childish.”<br/>
“Says you.” I say while letting him take my hand and un-wrap the towel. He ignores my comment and examines my hand.<br/>
“Oh, that doesn’t look good. Do you have a pair of tweezers?”<br/>
“A what?” I ask, not understanding the English word.<br/>
“Tweezers.” He says in Russian.<br/>
“Oh,” I’m not embarrassed at all, “Ukraine probably has a pair in her room. I’ll look.”<br/>
I leave him in the kitchen while I go upstairs and rummage through her vanity. I find a pair and go back to America. He sighs while taking them, then grabs my hand.<br/>
“Did you try picking up the broken glass?” He asks while pulling the small shards out of my hand.<br/>
“No, it broke in my hand. . . I was startled.” I admit. He looks up at me, eyes as dark as the ocean with a forest green center.<br/>
“Sorry, I wanted to make sure you’d hear me if you happened to be asleep or passed out somewhere.”<br/>
“I’m not that irresponsible, I knew what time you were coming.”<br/>
He holds eye contact for a few silent seconds before looking back down at my hand. I don’t wince, sigh, or groan while he pulls the glass out, rather I stand in silence, wondering why he jumped so readily at the chance to help me.<br/>
I guess, after this whole wall business and the impending collapse of an empire, we are trying to build better relations. Be ‘amicable’, be ‘trustworthy’, be ‘sincere’. . . be ‘friends’. . . That last one was shot down by both of us when his administration suggested it. I wonder if that guy got fired.<br/>
“How are you doing?” He breaks the silence.<br/>
“It actually doesn’t hurt as much as it looks.” I answer.<br/>
“That’s not what I meant,” he looks back up at me with that serious expression again, “how are you doing.”<br/>
“I’m fine.”<br/>
“I don’t think I believe you.”<br/>
“How the hell do you think I’m doing?” I ask a bit irritatedly. Does he want me to stand here and admit to him that I’m weak, depressed, lonely, falling apart, and that most of my time is spent drinking my weight in alcohol? Which, by the way, is noticeably less since I’ve lost thirty-eight kilograms (84 lbs) in less than six months! He can see how I am doing. Why must he gloat?<br/>
He lifts the sleeve of my shirt a bit to expose my wrist, fingers lightly tracing the protruding bone.<br/>
“I’d guess that you’ve stopped eating.” He says softly, pressing his thumb into the middle of my wrist. I’m positive he can feel my heartbeat soaring.<br/>
This tension between us is unbearable, I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer. I’m a bit ashamed of the latter action. Another way to die without dignity.<br/>
I’ve resisted this particular forbidden temptation for decades, but my iron grip on self-control (and many other things) is slipping. I can feel his hunger, that insatiable capitalist appetite of his that needs more and more to feed the machine. I fought it and lost. Now, it wants to consume me too, pull me into his network of corporations, influences, and money.<br/>
“I eat plenty.” I answer, resisting the urge to shiver at his feather light touches to the underside of my wrist and forearm. “I don’t need your pity.”<br/>
“Bein’ worried about your well-being has nothin’ to do with pity,” his touch reaches my elbow at this point and I fail to stop my body from shivering, “it has to do with compassion.”<br/>
He’s dropped into a drawl now, losing formalities.<br/>
His touch reaches my bicep, my breath is already heavy.<br/>
I have to put an end to this. He’s gone too far.<br/>
“Alfred, this is a dangerous path you’re taking.” I warn.<br/>
“Have you known me to ever shy away from danger, Ivan?”<br/>
“One day you’ll regret it.”<br/>
“That’s not this day.” His hand has reached my chest, slowly moving up to my collar bone. I close my eyes. I know I have some strength left, even if it’s the last of it, I know it’s in me somewhere. I have to use it now. I refuse to go down like this.<br/>
He needs to know that even at collapse I am a formidable force.<br/>
I need to know that even at collapse I am a formidable force.<br/>
I grab his wrist before his hand reaches my throat, tightening my grip hard enough to bruise. Before he can even utter another word I push him back against one of the walls in the kitchen, wrists pinned on either side of him.<br/>
“You really want to go down this road, little one?” I say darkly.<br/>
“I’m not little, let me go.” He says while trying to break free. He almost frees himself from my grip and I slam him back on the wall in a bid to daze him. I decide to lace my fingers in his hair and pull his head back, forcing him to look up at me. He gasps and gives me a shocked look, uselessly trying to push me away.<br/>
“You’re little compared to me, pig, never forget that. I may look weak, but that doesn’t mean I am. You’ve celebrated too early.”<br/>
“I didn’t come here to win something. A-Are my genuine intentions that hard to believe?” He asks, voice airy and high.<br/>
“We have been at each other’s throats for the entire twentieth century, how do you expect me to trust you?”<br/>
Silence.<br/>
“Hm?” I ask, pulling his hair.<br/>
“I-I don’t know,” he practically moans, “please stop pulling my hair.”<br/>
A loophole. Perhaps I don’t have to die with my dignity completely erased from me. I am not surrendering to him and I am not giving myself up to his hunger. This is my choice.<br/>
For the first time in our entire lives, our lips come together.<br/>
He meets me with just as much enthusiasm, parting his lips and arching his body into mine. I’m surprised at how warm he is, how hot and comforting his lips are. My hold on him falters and his wrists leave my grip. It’s almost like I’ve forgotten in this moment that I’m supposed to hate this man. I break the kiss.<br/>
“Shit.” I say under my breath.<br/>
“I’ve been wanting to do that since 1942.” He admits.<br/>
"You do a great job of hiding that."<br/>
"We are supposed to be enemies, are we not?" He asks, reaching for my belt and unbuckling it.<br/>
“People who hate each other don’t do this.” I say while undoing his belt.<br/>
“I don’t hate you at this moment.”<br/>
“I’m sure I could say the same.”<br/>
He looks up at me and something weird moves through my chest. His eyes make me think of hopeful and beautiful things; sea blue like the new shores of Petersburg, or even the salty air of Constantinople. A hint of deep green at the center like the old forests of Novgorod, or the pines at the Baltic. As our lips meet again all I can think about is his warmth, all the life he has, the good fortune, the things I tried to give myself in the early 1900s.<br/>
I know my bedroom is less than satisfactory at the moment, no light, empty bottles scattered about, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke woven through the air, so the guest room on this floor will do.<br/>
The bed is made already as it is not used, Katyusha must have dusted it before she left, and the blinds are open. It’s a very nice room at the moment, memories of locking Lithuania in here for days on end aside.<br/>
We fall onto the bed together and I straddle his hips. As we undress each other I can't help but notice how well he's built; strong chest, defined abs, arms that could probably man handle the hell out of me. It makes me feel a bit like I've let myself go, though, it's not like I chose to become so weak and thin.<br/>
He flips our positions and pins my wrists on the pillow. I hate to admit it but I can't lie to myself - this turns me on immensely. I bite my lip, trying to get in control of my breathing. I don't want to stop on account of my poor stamina and failing cardiovascular health.<br/>
He leans down and begins placing soft kisses on my neck. I moan against my will, arching into him and pushing my wrists against his grip. My body begins to shiver as that hot mouth tortures me, kissing, nipping, sucking. Ooh, if he bruises me. . .<br/>
I can't take this anymore, it's too much but not enough, I can't catch my breath. He leans up and looks down at me with a shit-eating grin.<br/>
"You're so sensitive." He comments while softly tracing his fingertips down my neck and chest. I shudder at that touch, trying my best to calm down.<br/>
"I can't help that." I manage in a voice I wish wasn't so soft before switching our positions. I decide to do the same thing he did to me, trailing my lips down his neck and biting softly. I can feel his heartbeat soar at my actions, especially when I start moving down his chest and stomach. I’ve had enough of this build up, I need him.<br/>
I give him a pillow to place under his hips before I lean over and open the bottom drawer to the nightstand. I take out a small bottle and notice that it is empty with only a small note tucked inside of it.<br/>
‘You wouldn’t have to use this with me. Love, Natasha.’<br/>
I sigh and place the bottle back in the drawer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Historical Notes: Within the first day Russia talks about the different ways one could make alcohol, or a substance that would destroy you if you wanted, if they did not have access to proper drinks. The section is inspired by a book called Moscow at the End of the Line by Venedikt Erofeev. A very good book, I highly recommend it if you are interested in Russian history and culture. It was also an underground book when it was first published, illegal, so idk it makes you feel a little dangerous? I'm just kidding, but please do read the book. Okay, enough from me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Left Wanting More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I wanted to put a quick warning before this chapter: there is some talk of needles, IVs, syringes so be aware if these things make you uncomfortable. Please feel free to leave a review!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday, November 9th, 1991 -  46 Days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been a tense few days in this small house situated in the Canadian wilderness. Clearly there is history here. I’ve known ever since we first met how I’ve made him feel. He has always been flustered around me, shy little voice barely even managing to create a full sentence without wavering. I remember how the simple act of kissing his hand would make him blush like he had a fever, or how just a wink would cause him to look down and bite his lip. Of course I felt the same, stealing as many glances as I could, finding any reason to talk to him, trying to learn English and perfect my French. One could imagine how my being away for nearly sixty years impacted the incredibly slow progress we had made ever since I started wooing him in 1776. <br/>So, now, I’m incredibly sick. And him being the kind, sweet young man he is offered to help me learn how to be healthy again. But it isn’t like I’ve forgotten our history. And I’m sure he hasn’t either. I feel a bit giddy around him, which is an emotion I haven’t felt in a long time. I notice the way he blushes when I smile at him, or the alluring look he will throw my way. <br/>He was taking my pulse yesterday and just the touch of his fingertips to my wrist sent little waves through me. It was such an intimate moment, the tension was thick enough to cut, I could see it in his eyes when he looked up at me. His pupils dilated as he told me my heart beat was too fast at rest. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him he was making me nervous, but I’m sure he was able to see that I was. Anything could have happened in that moment, I so desperately wanted something to happen. But eventually his hand left my wrist and he turned away to write something down. <br/>I’m rather sleepless today, thinking about all this didn’t make for a good night’s rest. Perhaps I can start my day a little early, get Canada out of my mind for a bit.<br/>Аs I walk into the quaint living room, I see Canada sitting in one of the armchairs, face in his hands, glasses on the lamp stand near him. It looks like a private moment, so I try quietly exiting the room but he notices my presence before I can do so. <br/>“Oh, Gilbert,” he begins, wiping his eyes discreetly before looking up at me, “you’re up early.” <br/>“I am, aren’t I. . . Are you alright?” <br/>“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, just sitting down.” His voice is a little shaky as he puts his glasses back on. I walk over to him and sit in the chair beside him. <br/>“I really appreciate all that you are doing for me. Really. Your selflessness amazes me. . . But if something is bothering you, I hope you know that you can always talk to me.” I offer. I really don’t want to overstep any boundaries here but, I was unconscious for six days, I know he had to do things to me that make this relationship a bit more intimate. <br/>“Thank you but really, I’m fine. . .Um. . . If you will excuse me, I have some things to take care of.” He says politely before standing and walking off toward the bedrooms. <br/>Clearly something is bothering him, but is it my place to ask? I mean, we have been living together for a while, maybe it wouldn’t be too rude of me to try and follow up. I slowly walk over to his bedroom door and hesitantly knock. I’m nervous, thinking about how if I did this to Russia I would probably get beat senseless. <br/>He opens the door and leans in the doorway a bit. <br/>“Are you alright?” He asks. <br/>“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine I’m just worried about you. I know you said you were fine but. . .” I trail off as he crosses his arms and sighs. <br/>“It’s really nothing to be worried about,” he says softly, “but we can talk about it if you want.” <br/>I’m so surprised by his reaction that I remain silent for a couple of moments before taking him up on his offer. He lets me into his room and a chill runs through my body, causing me to shiver. It is unbelievably cold in here. The bed looks rather plush and is decorated with solid white sheets, pillows, and blankets. He sits on the side of it and I take a seat next to him. <br/>“Since you will be living with me for a while longer it’s only fair I tell you that I can be a bit. . . down, at times. It doesn’t necessarily mean something is bothering me, but I may be a little lethargic or emotional.” <br/>“I hope you know that despite everything that is going on with me at the moment, I’m here for you if you need it. You’re important to me, Matthew.” I offer.<br/>“What?” He asks, looking at me with wide lavender eyes. A wave of anxiety crashes through me as I lean away. <br/>“I, uh, said you were important?” I say meekly. <br/>“Did you just call me Matthew?” <br/>“That is your name. . . Isn’t it?” Oh no. Did I call him by the wrong name?  <br/>I watch his pupils dilate considerably as he gives me this incredulous look. <br/>“No-nobody ever remembers, how did you remember that?” <br/>“How could I forget?” <br/>His right hand cups my cheek as his eyes lower to my lips. I must have said the right thing, because the next thing I know I’m lying on my back with him on top of me, kissing me like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. It feels incredible, like a dream I’ve always yearned for now finally reality. How could I have possibly known that this young, North American nation could ever make me feel like this? His hand gripping my waist like that is having dire consequences, and his lips. Oh, his lips. . . <br/>For a man that is seldom seen outside the Canadian wilderness he sure does kiss like he invented it. I can hardly keep up, hardly process all the feelings coursing through my body. <br/>I open my legs a little more so he can fit comfortable in between them. My action brings our hips flush together and I groan at the friction. The need to lace my fingers into his silky looking hair washes over me and my left hand leaves his hip to do just that. He breaks the kiss. <br/>“Uhh, no, no, please don’t touch my hair.” He moans out, pulling my hand away. <br/>“Sorry, sorry, I had no idea that was your-” <br/>“It’s fine. It’s okay, I just don’t like how it feels.” He reassures, affectionately cupping my cheek again. <br/>“Okay.” I say while looking down. He gently takes my lips once more and in no time we are back where we were, kissing passionately while desperately feeling each other up. <br/>I feel like a teenager again, sneaking out into the forest to kiss and touch Holy Rome. Of course doing this with Canada is absolutely amazing, but it leaves me wanting more. The last time he kissed me I was left wanting more. <br/>I switch our positions and take a second to look down at him. His lips are red and swollen from our kissing, eyes glossy and dilated. He looks so pretty. So incredibly pretty, what is he doing with me? <br/>His forbidden dirty blonde hair is splayed out over the pillow, curls looking so soft. <br/>“What?” He asks softly. I smile and answer his question by giving attention to his neck, kissing, sucking, and dragging my lips across it.<br/>“Mmm, that feels so good.” He says breathlessly, body arching into mine. <br/>His hands grip my hips as he writhes beneath me, absolutely euphoric by what I’m doing to him. I can feel him harden completely against my leg and I take things a little further by trialing a hand down his body, passed his belt and straight to his cock.<br/>“Ahh! Wait wait,” He says, taking my hand off of him, “we shouldn’t.” <br/>I roll off of him and onto my back beside him, stifling a sigh. If he isn’t ready he isn’t ready, I won’t push him. <br/>“Okay. . .” I say while looking at the obvious bulge in his pants, threatening to break through. <br/>“I didn’t mean to jump your bones like that, I’m so sorry. No one calls me by my name, especially when it’s to tell me I’m worth something and I just, I don’t know, got a little overwhelmed.” <br/>“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” <br/>“Still,” he says while sitting up, “It’s unbecoming of me. . .” I watch him stand up and take a deep breath. “We need more wood for the fireplace, so I’ll go do that. . .” He gives me a look I can’t read then leaves the room. <br/>I throw an arm over my eyes as the sun begins to shine into them. Of course I respect his boundaries and wishes, I just wish they weren’t so mixed. I really want to know what he’s thinking. . . Damn broken eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 10th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alfred I--. . . but. . . Ugh, I guess. . . Fine, okay, you win. . .” As I walk into the kitchen I notice Canada leaning against the counter, phone against his face. “Oh stop, it's always a competition with you. . .Mhm, sure. . .I’m not being sassy, don’t make me change my mind. . . Okay, okay, bye.” He hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. I give him an amused look, he smiles lightly in return. <br/>“How did you sleep?” He asks. <br/>“Well. How about you?” <br/>“Good enough. . . So, I just got off the phone with America. He is an hour out from here and told me he was visiting. I hope you don’t mind.” <br/>“Of course I don’t mind. This is your house.” I say.<br/>“I know, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” He says while putting a hand on my arm and squeezing gently. His lavender gaze sends a chill down my spine as a random memory of Russia pushing me against the kitchen counter and having his way with me crosses my mind. <br/>“You’re looking so much better.” He says before his hand falls away and he leaves the kitchen. <br/>I lean back against the counter, staring down at the tiled floor. <br/>“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Russia comments.<br/>“What?” I ask, while looking around. Nothing. <br/>“I remember how you used to look, used to act. Why, you’re nothing but an emaciated little husk of your former self. You’ve already lived your glory days, you’ll never experience that high again.”<br/>I shake my head and take a deep breath. I’m alone in this room, no one else is here. Just me. Just me. <br/>I turn the sink on and hold my hand under the cold water. This’ll help keep me grounded. <br/>The sound of the doorbell makes me jump and I turn the water off. A few moments later Canada reappears to answer the door. <br/>“Canada! Dude, it’s so good to see you.” I hear America say as I step out of the kitchen and into the living room. <br/>“Nice to see you too, America. . . You’re holding me too tight.” <br/>“Oh, sorry,” America lets him go, “a little over excited.” <br/>“I can tell. . . Here, take a seat. I’ll make some tea.” Canada gives me a weary look before going into the kitchen. My gaze falls back to America who sits across from me, leaning back in the seat and crossing his legs. They don’t look as similar to each other as they once did back when they were European colonies. It’s clear that America took after England and Canada after France. His face is shaped similarly to England’s and his eyebrows are slightly darker than his natural hair color as well, but his face is flawless unlike England’s which is absolutely covered in freckles. <br/>“You’re looking better, how have you been?” America asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts. <br/>“Thanks to your brother I’m doing pretty good. He’s great at what he does.” <br/>“Yeah, he is the best. Probably because he spends all his time locked away here and has nothing better to do but read medical books.” There is laughter in his voice as he says this but I don’t find the situation very funny. <br/>“Do you ever check up on him?” I chance asking. <br/>“Of course I do. . . Or at least I try to, he does an amazing job оf thwarting my attempts to spend time with him. That’s why I showed up rather unexpectedly today, can’t really say no if I’m already here.” <br/>I’m surprised to learn that Canada actively avoids America, I would have thought the other way around. <br/>“Hm. . . He just seems rather lonely.” I comment. <br/>“He may very well be, I can’t imagine how he stays sane isolated out here all the time, but I can’t really force him to be social. . . Though, I think you being here is good for him. I’m pretty sure that’s why France suggested that he help take care of you while you heal.”<br/>I can’t help but smile a bit at his statement. I truly hope that my presence here is doing him good like it is me. My eyes happen to fall on America’s wrist where his sleeve has ridden up a bit. He has a painful looking blue and purple bruise almost completely around his wrist. <br/>“What happened?” I ask. <br/>“What? Oh, this. . . Nothing really.” He says while pulling his sleeve down. <br/>I furrow my eyebrows slightly as I remember the large bruise around Felicia’s bicep. <br/>“That’s not from Germany, is it?” I really, really hope to God it’s not from him. <br/>“No, no, of course not. He’s a sweetheart, and anyway he wouldn’t be strong enough to do that to me. . . If you really want to know, it was Russia.” <br/>My eyes widen and my heart sinks. <br/>“He was. . . able to do that? To you?” I guess my voice sounded rather fearful, because America immediately jumps to reassuring me. <br/>“Yeah but I’m okay, really, he’s nothing to worry about. I was kind of being an asshole so I deserved it.” <br/>Canada reappears and sets the tea down on the coffee table. He sits right next to me and I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. <br/>“So, how’s Germany?” Canada asks. <br/>“He’s doing okay, considering. Really heartbroken.” <br/>“Did Italy break-up with him?” I ask. America nods while pouring the tea. <br/>“Yeah. She wrote a note and France gave it to me to give to him. France said she couldn’t bear telling him in person.” <br/>“So how is Italy?” Canada asks. <br/>“She seems fine, honestly. They are processing this in completely different ways. He can hardly get out of bed and she seems content living it up with France. . . Though, Germany let me read the note and if any of it is true, she is hurting a lot as well.” <br/>“Hmm, that’s so sad.” Canada comments. <br/>We sit in silence for a while before America speaks up. <br/>“How are you two doing?”<br/>“We are fine.” Canada answers for us. <br/>“How fine? Like just okay, or like really good.” He says with a bit of a drawl. <br/>“Stop, you’ve been spending too much time with France.” <br/>“You and I both know that you took after her waaaay more than I did.” America laughs. I look at Canada as he blushes. <br/>“That is not true, I do no-”<br/>“It totally is, Matthew. You can’t fight me on this one.” <br/>Canada just smiles and shakes his head. <br/>“Alright, fine, I take after her more, which means I’m better looking as well.” <br/>“You are prettier than me, I’ll give you that.” America laughs. <br/>Their banter is adorable to say the least. It’s wonderful to see Canada blush and smile like that. If he is so happy around America, why does he actively avoid him? America said that France suggested I live here cause it would do both of us good, that means both America and France know how lonely and isolated Canada is. . . Does he do this to himself? If so, why? <br/>America stays over for quite a while, long after the sun has gone down. Once he leaves, Canada sighs and leans against the wall. <br/>“You have a very cute relationship with him.” I comment. He smiles wearily at me. <br/>“It hasn’t always been that way. . . I’m glad it is now.” <br/>“. . .If you don’t mind me asking,” I say while approaching him, “why don’t you have him over more?” <br/>“Well, he’s busy, you know? Constantly in Europe doing superpower things. . . I don’t want to bother him, and besides, you’re here right now so I’m not very alone anymore.” <br/>The smile his statement causes me to have falters as a wave of dizziness crashes over me. I only sway for a second or two before he catches me and helps me stay upright. <br/>“What are you feeling?” He asks. <br/>“I’m just dizzy is all.” I answer, resting against his chest. <br/>“Would you like me to help you to bed?” <br/>“If you wouldn’t mind.” <br/>“Of course.” <br/>With a strong arm wrapped around my waist he begins to help me walk over toward the hall until the strength in my legs give out. The world around me starts to go black and distant as I feel him pick me up off the ground. <br/>The pain is so great it almost numbs me. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard for death. For a moment I thought maybe I was leaving this body, but as I open my eyes I see that I have only been lifted off the ground. The air is filled with a gracious silence, the temperature favorable. Despite everything that had just happened, today would have been a beautiful day. Children would have ran through the streets, playing and laughing, singing songs. People would have found any excuse to be outside, admiring the perfect sky, the sound of the birds, the green of the grass that was once here. Now it’s just silence, only broken by the soft crunch of the ground underneath boots. <br/>“Are you cold?” Russia asks. <br/>“. . . What?” I manage somehow. <br/>“I can feel you shaking. . . We don’t have that much longer, just stay awake.” <br/>“. . . You did this to me. . . Just leave me.” I choke out, trying to move, trying to push myself out of his arms. <br/>“Dying is easy. You don’t get that luxury.” I’m so tired, tired of keeping my eyes open, tired of speaking, tired of living. “Hey, wake up, don’t close your eyes.” He says, shaking me gently. <br/>He lets go of my legs, allowing me to stand for myself, but keeps an arm wrapped around my waist. A black car pulls up before us and he opens the back door. I close my eyes again, feeling the world slip out from under me. The next time I open them I’m laying in his lap, being driven somewhere. His lavender eyes look down at me as he starts undoing the coat I have on. He presses a thick cloth to my stomach and I wince. <br/>“Let me bleed out.” I whisper. He doesn’t answer me, just continues to treat my severe wounds as best he can in this setting. <br/>As the drive spans on my senses slowly begin returning to me, adrenaline running out. The numbing pain turns into something much more acute and my heart begins to pick up. My breathing turns into painful gasps as I writhe in agony. He tries to keep me still, holding onto my arms and pushing me down. <br/>The pain is so horrible I can’t even think properly, I can’t pay attention to what he says to me, where we are. At some point he covers my mouth to silence my agony, I’ve never prayed so hard to die. <br/>The only thing that I register is him moving me out of the car, causing me even more pain as he presses into my bruises. A few people help place me on something cold before rushing me somewhere. English words start flying over me but I’m so besides myself in absolute suffering that I cannot understand any of it. I can hardly feel the hands touching me, undressing me and cleaning the blood and dirt away. I find it getting harder and harder to breathe until my lungs simply will no longer fill with air. Panic is an understatement. I have never been so afraid. The pressure in my chest is great as my body begins to burn. Why can a body feel so much pain at once? Why am I still alive to feel every bit of it? A sharp feeling pierces my chest and suddenly I can breathe again. My tired body falls still and a feeling of euphoria crashes through me. I’ve never prayed so hard to die. <br/>I open my eyes, the pain subsided only enough to allow me to take in a few other things. Bandages cover my chest and stomach, my left arm, my right thigh. As I try to shift I find that my wrists and legs are bound to the bed, allowing for only a little bit of movement. I look around the room again, recognizing medical supplies, the bag of fluids above me. . . I look to the IV in my arm and an escape plan formulates. Extending my right arm allows for me to move the IV line on top of my arm so I can reach over and bite it. With some coaxing and a countdown, I pull on it, taking the needle out of my arm. It takes a few moments but I’m able to move the line through my mouth until I have the needle in between my teeth. The muscles in my stomach are absolutely obliterated and scream at me when I so much as try to shift. To make my repositioning easier I use my legs to slide myself down the bed a bit and bring my wrist as close as I can to my mouth. Unfortunately, I need to use my stomach to get the rest of the way there. Another small peptalk ensues in my mind before I gather the determination needed to work through the pain. I bring my mouth to my wrist and insert the needle into the lock of the cuff. It takes a few moments before I finally find purchase and unlock it. With my right hand free I take the needle from my mouth and unlock my left wrist. I use my arms to help me sit up so I can reach over and begin undoing my legs. Just as I free them from the bed the door opens and Canada walks in. He gasps and quickly closes the door behind him. Shit. <br/>“You should not be sitting up, you’ll reopen your wounds.” He says in a soft, slow voice. <br/>“I’m fine,” I answer in German, “I suggest you turn back around and leave.” <br/>“I cannot speak German,” He starts, slowly approaching me, “but, I know you understand English.” <br/>“I prefer not to speak in English.” I switch to French. <br/>“Okay, that’s fine, we don’t have to speak English. . . Please, lie back down. You should not be sitting up.” He answers in French. <br/>“I’m fine,” I repeat, “but you won’t be if you keep coming closer.” A mighty bluff considering my condition. <br/>“I do not want to hurt you, I’m just trying to help.” <br/>“Really? You all seemed quite fine using me as you pleased, I do not trust you.” <br/>“I’m sorry, truly, please lie down.” He says once more, getting too close to me. A brief, heavy moment of silence passes between us before the struggle starts. He reaches for my wrist and tries to re-cuff it but I use his weight against him and pull him down onto the bed. I am not strong enough to do anything meaningful, and am powerless against him as he successfully cuffs my right wrist back to the bed. The only thing I can think of that will get me the time I need to try and escape is kicking him as hard as I can in between his legs. But as I do so a sharp pain erupts from my stomach and a warm feeling flows down my ribs. He winces, a soft moan of pain leaving his lips, but otherwise seems unfazed. <br/>“You shouldn’t have tried to fight me.” He says in a tense voice, returning to English. I look down at my stomach and notice the fresh blood seeping through my bandages. <br/>“At least. . . Ambitious.” I manage in English. He tightens the cuffs around my wrists in order to give me less movement, along with my legs, spreading them wider than I’d like. He takes a small bottle out from one of the drawers in the room and begins putting a syringe together. <br/>“What is that?” I ask. <br/>“It’ll help keep you relaxed.” He says, filling the needle with the clear liquid. <br/>“You have already bound me, why do this?. . . No, no, get away.” I try moving my arm but it’s no use. <br/>“Keep still, it’ll hurt a lot worse if you keep squirming around.” The last thing I want to be is unconscious or put into a drugged up stupor, who knows what will happen to me. I’m frightened of the idea. I don’t like having my inhibitions and cognitive awareness taken from me. <br/>“Please, I can’t escape even if I wanted to.” I quickly say in French. <br/>He stops for a moment and looks at me. <br/>“I’m not here to hurt you, I am only trying to help. This will make you feel so much better.” His grip on my arm tightens considerably as he pushes the needle into me. The rush is almost immediate, making my mind fuzzy and my vision blurry. I can sort of understand that he is doing something in the room, but I’m not sure. His hands are warm against my stomach and it makes me mighty agreeable. I can’t remember why I tried fighting so hard in the first place. Oh, look at him, he’s so cute. So good at taking care of me. It’s almost like he has magic, it feels great. I feel like laughing, but I’m not sure what’s so funny. The world is only filled with good things. I’m sure everything will be fine. Do you think he’ll still like me after this? Why, yes I do. He would never hurt me. He’ll make sure the others don’t hurt me. It’s okay. I’ll be okay. <br/>It’s okay. <br/>“It’s okay.” <br/>“Why are you laughing?” <br/>I open my eyes and find Canada looking down at me. He’s running his hand through my hair as I lie in his lap. <br/>“Where am I?” I ask in German. <br/>“In Canada, in my house. Do you remember what year it is?” He asks. I close my eyes and groan. <br/>“Not 1945. . . 1991.” <br/>“That’s correct.” <br/>“You were scary in 1945.” I say softly, feeling incredibly woozy still. <br/>“Was I?” <br/>“A little. . . But all you ever did was make sure I was okay.” <br/>“It was my job, yes.” I reach up and cup his cheek with my left hand. <br/>“. . . Why are you so mixed about me?” I ask. <br/>“I’m trying to remain professional,” he begins while I trail my hand down his chest and stomach, feeling the muscle underneath his shirt, “but you’re making it difficult.” <br/>“Sorry. . . I guess I just really want this.” <br/>“You’re delirious. Here, lie down on the pillow.” He says while helping me move off of him. I want to say more to him but the tiredness that overcomes my body puts me out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Regression</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What does it even matter - the theme for this chapter. Prussia just can't seem to find the will to try anymore. It's easy to slip back into nothing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday, November 11th, 1991 - 44 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I take one more lingering look at the front of the house before ascending the white, marble steps up to the front double doors. There are two guards standing in front of them, armed and in a strong stance. They step to the side once I am close enough and allow me to walk into the manor. The inside of course is just as beautiful as the outside, and makes me seriously wonder where Roderich got all the marble from. Probably took it from Greece. <br/>“Gilbert.” Speaking of Roderich there he is now, at the top of the first set of stairs. “I’m afraid we may not have much time.” My frown increases and I ascend the first flight, following him down the main hallway toward his bedroom. Another set of guards stand before these wooden doors as well, stepping aside to let both of us walk in before closing the doors behind us. <br/>And that’s when I see him. <br/>He looks bad. Terribly sick, pale face, sunken eyes, light lips. His eyes are closed, labored breathing filling the room with the sound of a tortured and tired soul. The effort to take in air must be great for him. It makes my chest hurt just hearing it. <br/>“How long?” I ask, fighting my urge to sob and run away. <br/>“It started after you left.” <br/>“And he has yet to get better?” I ask desperately. <br/>“No, I’m afraid not.” My body shivers and I feel cold in the summer air. He’s been sick for almost a year now, fighting to get better, fighting to stay with us and now fighting to breathe. I’ve never seen a nation waste away like this before and it is frightening. And there is nothing I can do to stop the pain, nothing I can do to make him better. . . <br/>All I can do is watch in silent horror as the love of my life slowly dies in front of me. But I remain hopeful as I bite the inside of my cheek to quiet the chatter of my teeth. I remain hopeful that he will eventually pull out of this. <br/>Walking over to the side of the bed I kneel down and take his hand in mine. Those once vibrant, youthful eyes open to reveal the eyes of someone who has seen over one thousand years. To his credit, he has. <br/>“. . . Prussia.” He manages with much effort. <br/>“Shh, you don’t have to say anything.” The tears flow freely down my face now as I’m filled with regret. I shouldn’t have waited to join the war. I should have been by his side, should have let go of my spite. He coughs quite violently but it seems to make his breathing a little better and his voice stronger. <br/>“I’m worried about you.” I kiss his hand. <br/>“Why are you worried about me?” I ask. <br/>“I fear what will become of you after my death.” <br/>“You will not die.” I reassure mostly myself. He smiles and squeezes my hand. <br/>“I’ve been having this dream where you and I are human and we live together in simplicity. . . Grow old.” He takes a breath in between words, as if he has ran a couple kilometers and is now trying to speak. <br/>“You are seeing our future.” My voice is quivering, choking on tears. <br/>“I want you to know that I love you more than I have ever loved anything. . .And if I have had one regret in life it is not being able to spend more of it with you.” As much as his words mean to me, I know they are his last. He is trying to tell me everything he possibly can. I can see it in his eyes, he wants to say so much more but cannot. And that’s okay. I understand. I tighten my grip on his hand and sob into his chest. His other hand weakly runs through my hair. <br/>“Child, do not cry so. . .Celebrate my life.” <br/>The doors open, allowing for one of Roderich’s courtiers to rush in, a bit breathless. <br/>“Austria, sir, it has been finalized. . . The Holy Roman Empire is no more. . .” He says, starting off a bit excited before diminishing into a somber voice. Austria nods once. <br/>“Thank you for bringing this information to me so quickly. Tell the king I will be there shortly.” <br/>“Of course, sir.” The courtier bows before swiftly existing the room.  <br/>“He is human?” I ask, feeling my tears well up again. <br/>“It would seem like that is the case.” Austria answers, joining me at the side of Holy Rome, or. . . Just Wolfgang, I suppose. <br/>“How do you feel?” I ask him. <br/>“Worse. . . Considerably worse.” His voice is hardly a whisper, each breath is now a wheeze. I take a hold of his hand now, his human hand. His face slowly begins to change colors like he is being choked and there is nothing I can do but slowly watch him suffocate to death. “You’re. . . So beautiful.” My tears begin again. He would use his dying breath to compliment me. Roderich turns away, unable to watch him die. I get onto the bed next to him and embrace him, softly running my hand through his hair long after I feel the warmth fade from him and the room fall into silence. His strangled gasps cease, muscles too tired to keep fighting, lungs refusing to move. Now that he is human, he can finally die. . . Die and stay dead. <br/>I remained holding him like that until the summer day turned into night. <br/>A part of my soul died with him that day. He told me not to turn to darkness but it was hard not to after losing something that I circled my entire existence around. My life, for so long, only had purpose because of him. I fought for him, lived for him, breathed for him. Losing him was the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life, more painful than being stripped of my nationhood. And more painful than being held captive in Russia for nearly sixty years. That pain changed me. And I’m ashamed of that. It only took the aforementioned sixty years for me to realize that, to be forced to come to terms with who I had become. . . Yet even now I’m still not like myself. . . But what even is that? Was it who I was at the turn of the century? Was it who I was before the fall of the Holy Roman Empire? Who I was before the Thirty Years’ War? Is it who I am now? <br/>Quite frankly I don’t really like who I am now, nor did I like who I was at the turn of the century. My best self, in my opinion, was before the Thirty Years’ War, but I know too much now to return to being that person. Can I be who I was between 1648 and 1806 without being Prussia? I mean, honestly, I’m not Prussia. Prussia doesn’t exist. . . Was any of those people even me? Or am I someone completely new? . . . <br/>“Hey, are you alright?” <br/>I open my eyes to Canada sitting on the side of the bed, wiping a soft cloth over my cheek. <br/>“I don’t know.” I answer truthfully. He nods a bit before setting the cloth down on the nightstand. <br/>“It’s rather late in the day so I came in here to make sure you were doing alright. . . You were crying in your sleep.” <br/>“Yeah,” I begin, memories of Wolfgang’s death flashing across my mind, “it wasn’t a great dream.” <br/>“I’m sorry to hear that. . . I wonder if it had anything to do with your regression.” <br/>“Regression? Am I getting worse?” I ask while sitting up. <br/>“Not perse. You look a lot younger than you did before, softer and brighter skin, smoother hair, very red eyes.” He traces the back of his hand gently down the side of my face and I still. <br/>“I thought getting younger was a good sign.” <br/>“Well it can be, but it means that something happened politically. Nothing just happens overnight unless it is. . . From experience being younger tends to mean you are under the influence of another nation.” <br/>I look down at the bed, trying to piece together what that means. Does it mean Germany has taken over whatever I am? Or worse. . . That Russia never really let go of me? <br/>“Under an empire, huh? The last time I had to really answer to anyone was when the Holy Roman Empire was still around.” <br/>His head tilts slightly to the right as he gives me a small smile.<br/>“It’s not all bad. I’ve been under one my entire life up until recently.” <br/>“I guess worse things can happen.” <br/>“That’s the spirit,” he says with a tone that makes me swoon, “do you mind if I take some measurements from you?”<br/>“Of course not, you’re the doctor.” <br/>I watch him stand up and walk over to the dresser before I stand up as well. He puts his hair up before looking at me over the brim of his glasses.<br/>“Take off your shirt.” I do as I’m told, shivering a bit at the cold air. He stands before me with a tape measure in hand and wraps it around my waist, warm hands brushing against my ribs and stomach. “Hm. . You’ve only added an inch. . .” <br/>“Is that bad?” I find myself asking in a soft voice. <br/>“No, it’s really good, any progress is good. However, I can still see a bit of your ribs while you are standing, so you should probably gain at least ten more pounds (5 kg).” He kneels down in front of me and begins wrapping the tape measure around my bare thigh. The world stands completely still as those comforting hands brush against the inside of my thighs. I tell myself to remain as motionless and as quiet as possible, he’s only measuring me, nothing more. But as his right hand practically grips my thigh I can’t help but shiver. <br/>“Are you cold?” he asks me. <br/>“No, just, uh, ticklish.” I lie. <br/>“Really? My apologies.” He steps away from me and I let out a small sigh of relief. “But you are covered in goosebumps.” He follows up. <br/>“Oh. . . I guess I am.” <br/>“Why do you always lie to me when I ask you if you are cold?” <br/>“I uh. . . Because I’m not allowed to complain about that.” I admit while staring down at the carpeted floor of the guest room. <br/>“Yeah, no shit.” Russia would say while shivering, lips turning blue from the cold. <br/>“We don’t have any more wood, and won’t be able to get more in at least a week.” Lithuania whispers to me. <br/>“Unless we use the peat.” Estonia says matter of factly. <br/>“No, we are not stealing peat,” Russia interjects, “besides, the storm outside will make it impossible to get any for at least a few days anyway.”  <br/>Lithuania pulls on my arm and I look at him. <br/>‘Come on’ He mouths to me. Quietly, he leads me out of the library and down the hallway to one of the empty rooms. It used to be the one China would use whenever she visited, but she doesn’t come around anymore. He closes the door behind us and leans against it, facing me. <br/>“It’s warmest in here.” He says. <br/>“Is it? Or did you just want me alone?” I tease. <br/>“Okay, maybe that’s part of it.” He says with a smile. <br/>I sit on the bed and he joins me. <br/>“Does Raivis seem a little. . . Small, to you?” He asks. <br/>“He is a child, isn’t he?” <br/>“He’s physically fourteen, he should be bigger. . . He looks like he’s ten. I’m worried that his growth is being stunted from living here. There is hardly enough food to feed four people in this house, let alone eleven. Czechia keeps giving half her portions to him, but she’s getting very weak.” <br/>“Have you talked to Ukraine about this?” I ask. <br/>“Yes. . . Yesterday she started giving more than half her portions to him. . . But I don’t want Czechia and Ukraine to suffer like that, they shouldn’t have to. They do just as much work as everyone else, if not more. . . And I’ll be damned if I share my concerns with Russia.” <br/>I put my hand on his knee and give it a reassuring squeeze. He looks up at me, eyes exhausted. <br/>“I’ll try talking to Slovakia and Romania, you try getting through to Poland. I’m sure they would understand and try their best to help Latvia.” <br/>He nods and pulls me into a tight embrace. <br/>“Thank you so much. . . I just want Raivis to be healthy. . . He doesn’t deserve any of this.” I can hear his voice cracking and my heart starts to hurt. As we pull apart I put a hand on his cheek and wipe his tears away. He puts his hand over mine and presses into it. <br/>I’m not sure who started it, but that doesn’t really matter. All I can think about are his lips and the way they move against mine. They are a bit dry from the cold, but I’m sure mine are too. <br/>We lie on our sides, facing each other, and kissing like there is no tomorrow. Because honestly, for us, there might not be. He grabs my waist and pulls me closer causing me to moan into the kiss. <br/>“Huh, so this is why you both disappear together.” We couldn’t have pulled apart fast enough at the sound of that voice. My heart beat races as I stare at Russia leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. “Figured as much, though I had hoped both of you had more dignity.” <br/>“It’s my fault,” I begin, not wanting Toris to face any consequences, “I forced myself on him.” I can see Lithuania give me an incredulous look from the corner of my vision as Russia lifts an amused eyebrow. <br/>“Shut the fuck up Gilbert and leave the room.” <br/>I look at Lithuania and he mouths to me that he’ll be okay. Hesitantly, I get off of the bed and walk out of the room. Just before I exit the doorway, Russia grabs my arm tight enough to bruise. I stifle a gasp. <br/>“Keep your hands off of him, understand?” He says to me softly. <br/>“Yes, sir.” I answer. He pushes me into the hallway and shuts the door, leaving Lithuania alone inside. He pulls a key out from his coat pocket and locks the door from the outside. <br/>“Perhaps some solitude will prompt Lithuania to reflect on why he shouldn’t be engaging in acts like that. . . Especially with you.” Russia comments before walking away. I wait until he is no longer within sight to go back to the door. <br/>“Toris?” I ask. I can hear him walk up to the door from the otherside. <br/>“It’s okay.” He answers. <br/>“No, it’s not okay. How long is he going to leave you in there?” <br/>“I’ll be fine, truly. He’ll probably come back near the end of the day.” <br/>“But-”<br/>“Gilbert.” The way he says my name tells me everything. There is nothing I can do. <br/>Sixty hours later Russia unlocked the door.<br/>“Please be okay, please be okay.” I hear myself say. <br/>“You’re okay, you’re safe.” A beautiful voice tells me. <br/>I open my eyes and find a soft lavender pair looking at me. As I look around the room I recognize it to be the guest room in Canada’s house. I’m lying on the bed. <br/>“What happened?” I ask. <br/>“Perhaps another flashback? I’m sorry, I fear that I triggered that one.” I try to sit up but I’m much too dizzy to do so. He helps me lie back down and I grab onto his arm to try and cement myself in the world. “Take it easy, you still need some time to recover.”<br/>“Will that ever stop happening?” I ask. <br/>“With time.” <br/>“I already went through it all, why must my mind insist that I keep experiencing it. . .” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 12th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I really don’t want to move. What is even the point? If there is nothing I can do to get away from the past, why even try? I can’t even live without being thrown into random flashbacks. None of this matters. I won’t get better. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 13th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He comes in sometimes but my favorite pastime is staring at the wall. I wonder if this is how Lithuania felt when he was locked in that room for days on end? Or how Latvia felt when Russia took his innocence? Is this how Belarus felt when she was ignored? How Ukraine felt when she was beaten? What about Estonia when he was sent to Siberia? Or even Poland, who had a hell of a spirit that had to be brutally killed? Is this how Czechia felt when she tried to protest and was beaten? Or how Slovakia felt when he saw and could do nothing to stop it? How about Romania when he was forbidden to speak because his language was romantic? Or how Prussia felt when he was brutalized by everyone else. . . This is how I felt. Like what was the point in continuing to live? What does it even matter?. . . what does it even matter. . .</p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 14th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No more dancing, no more fireworks. The wall is as blank as I want to be. Solid, unchanging, unmovable. The only thing that flashes before my eyes is the torture. He was good at it. Russia could find out everything, what bothered me, what made me insecure, what caused me the most pain, what would make me want to die. He did it to everyone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 15th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tears come freely. They stain my cheeks and wet the pillow, swell my eyes and make my head pound. But even they run out. My eyes dry up but the pain is still there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 16th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Help me.” Latvia’s voice rings through my mind. “Please. I don’t want to die.” <br/>Why won’t he leave me alone? Can’t he see I can not do anything to help him? We all want to be helped. . . But none of us will be. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 17th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why can’t I die?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 18th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why am I still here?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Guide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prussia has found himself slipping as all seems hopeless. He's lost in himself and the past, unable to find his way out. Perhaps this mysterious man, who looks vaguely familiar, will be able to help him out of this labyrinth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tuesday, November 19th, 1991 - 36 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I walk through the large hall, steps echoing and bouncing off the walls. My shadow follows me as I pass by the lighted torches. A maid steps aside and bows her head as I pass her. I can’t think of how I got here or what I’m doing. I’m just going. The halls seem endless. <br/>“Gilbert, is it?” <br/>I turn around and see a man behind me. His frame is tall and strong. He is dressed in something I haven’t seen in hundreds of years, covered in a black cloak that brushes the floor as he moves. His face is serious, dark green eyes practically glowing in the dark hall. His hair is jet black, hanging about his face and shoulders in loose curls. <br/>“Who asks?” I say, hardly recognizing my own childish voice. A small smile curves his lips as he puts a hand on his hip. <br/>“Someone who can help guide you through the labyrinth, if you wish.” <br/>“Labyrinth?” I ask, panic filling my chest. <br/>“How long do you think you’ve been wondering these halls?” <br/>“Just a few minutes. . . I-I’m trying to find my room.” <br/>“A few minutes?” He chuckles, “It has been at least a few days.” <br/>“Days? I don’t understand. . . I just want to find my room, it shouldn’t take that long.” I turn around and begin walking with more purpose, passing more and more torches, another maid. Eventually I walk up to the man again, but this time he is in front of me, leaning with his back on the wall. <br/>“You’re back.” He says. <br/>“How is this possible?” <br/>He stands up straight and approaches me, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. <br/>“This labyrinth is difficult, little one.” <br/>“You said you were a guide, yes?” I ask. <br/>“I did.” <br/>“Can you guide me?” <br/>“Of course I can. Come.” He begins to walk and I follow. <br/>“What is your name?” I ask after some time of silence. <br/>“I am called many things, but you may call me Theo if you wish.” <br/>“Theo. . . Why are you in this labyrinth?” <br/>“To help you, of course. There is something within you that reminds me of someone I used to love.” <br/>“Something within me?” <br/>“Yes. You have that same tragic soul he had. . . At least a part of it anyway.” <br/>We pass another maid but instead of bowing her head and going her own way, she begins to follow behind us. <br/>“What is she doing?” I ask Theo. <br/>“Do not pay them any mind. They are noticing that I am helping you, and wish to stop me.” <br/>“Why?” <br/>“Now there is a question. You want them to stop us.” <br/>“I don’t want that, what makes you say that?” I ask, stopping in my tracks. He turns to look at me. <br/>“To get out of this labyrinth, you need to let the maids go. They cannot follow you out.” <br/>“I don’t want them to follow me.” <br/>“Are you sure?” Theo asks, eyebrow raised. <br/>I turn to look at the maid and notice a darkness where her face should be. Startled, I gasp and back up into Theo. He places his hands on my shoulders and I wrap my hand around his wrist. <br/>“What is wrong with her?” I ask, frightened. <br/>“It is the darkness that keeps you in here. As you pass by them they nod to you, hiding their absent faces, and giving you a sense of security. They lead you further and further into the dark, away from the door. I am proud of you. You can finally see them for what they are.” <br/>I nod and look up at him, his face has a bit of kindness in it now that comforts me. <br/>“Let's keep going.” I suggest. <br/>“Alright.” <br/>We continue walking through the dark winding halls, collecting more and more maids as we do so. A sickening fear begins to build within my chest. I feel like something is pulling me, weighing down on me, telling me to turn back. <br/>“You are slowing down?” Theo asks. <br/>“I feel heavy, like something is pulling me back.” I admit. <br/>“Do you wish to hold my hand?” He says while stretching his arm out toward me. I nod and take his hand, feeling stronger. We seem to walk for hours, the torches burn endlessly, the halls never cease. <br/>“You will not leave this labyrinth the same as you entered. Are you sure you want to leave it?” Theo breaks the silence. <br/>“Do I have a choice?” <br/>“You do. You can follow the maids further inside, and let them lead you to that door.” <br/>“That doesn’t seem like much of a choice. . .” I mumble. <br/>He is evil. <br/>Don’t follow him.<br/>He will only trick you. <br/>He is the devil! <br/>Don’t do it Gilbert, do not go to the door. <br/>He is not to be trusted<br/>Voices whisper through the halls. <br/>“Do you hear that?” I ask, “the whispering?” <br/>“I do.” Theo says calmly. <br/>Do you not recognize him?<br/>Evil! <br/>He is leading you the wrong way!<br/>What has been done to you cannot be undone! You will never forget!<br/>You mustn't change, Gilbert. Do not lose yourself.<br/>“They are scaring me. . . Are they talking about you?” My voice is shaky as I ask. <br/>“They are. The maids do not like me, they wish for you to stay. Do you still trust me?” <br/>I look up into his green eyes then back at the maids. One of them steps forward and pulls the hood away, allowing for me to see a face. It is Germany. <br/>“Don’t trust him, Prussia. He will lead you away from me.” <br/>“Germany? What are you doing here?” I ask, astonished. <br/>“I’m trying to help you. Follow me this way, to the other door.” <br/>I look to Theo for guidance but he remains silent. <br/>“I-I don’t know. . . Theo is the guide, he knows where to go.” <br/>“He lies! He is only tricking you! Why would I lie to you?” Germany sounds heartbroken as I doubt his intentions. I feel my hand begin to slip away from Theo’s as I step closer to the maids. Germany stretches out his arm, holding his hand out to me. <br/>“Take my hand, and I’ll lead you to the right door. He is a trickster, Prussia. He is a snake in disguise, you can tell by his glowing green eyes.” <br/>Another maid steps forward and pulls down the hood, revealing Hungary. <br/>“Gilbert take his hand, please. We don’t want to lose you, not again. Do not trust the man you have been following, he is the grim reaper.” <br/>I look back to Theo and again note how his eyes glow green. His black cloak and serious face become more sinister. <br/>“Theo, is this true?” <br/>The poisonous green gaze falls to me as he answers. <br/>“I am the guide to this labyrinth. If you wish to make it to the end, you must follow me, and leave them behind.” <br/>“Gilbert,” Germany begins, “please come back to us. I can’t live without you. It’ll destroy me.” <br/>Another maid steps forth and again pulls it’s hood off, revealing Canada. <br/>“Take his hand, Gilbert, and come back to us. I’m beginning to fall for you and would be shattered if you left me like everyone else in my life.” Canada says in his delicate voice. <br/>“Y-you are?” I stutter. <br/>“Yes. My love for you grows with each passing day. I know I can be confusing, but that is because I’ve been hurt before. My walls are crashing down the more I get to know you.” His soft voice echoes throughout the halls, making me swoon. My hand slips further from Theo’s and I am almost to Germany. As I reach out to take his hand, a dark laugh echoes through the halls, making him pull back. Hungary, Canada, and Germany look at me with fear in their eyes as I notice the laughing is coming from me. <br/>“There he is, that tragic soul. It doesn’t have to be a curse, Gilbert.” Theo says softly. As I look over the maids again I notice their hoods have gone back up, darkness blanking out their faces. I hold onto Theo’s hand tighter and a smirk curves his lips. <br/>“So you have chosen me?” He asks. <br/>“Yes. I want to be done with this labyrinth.” <br/>“Good.” his grip tightens on me and he begins running through the halls, pulling me along. The maids wail, their horrifying screams following us through the winding halls. The torches begin to blow out, quicker than we can run, leaving us in darkness. <br/>“I can’t see!” <br/>“I know!” Theo begins, “we are at the door, are you strong enough to step through?” <br/>“Yes? I can’t see it.” <br/>“Come on, Prussia! You don’t have much time. The maids will take you if you do not go through.” <br/>I frantically look around the darkness, trying to find anything, any sign of a door. I look up where Theo should be and see his glowing green eyes. <br/>“It’s you. . . You’re the door.” <br/>“Yes. Now go, or all of this will be for not.” <br/>I look into his eyes, and he looks into mine. Hands grab at me and I begin to panic. A red light begins to eliminate the wall behind him as he becomes lost in my eyes. I see a lot as I go through his green eyes, memories of his life flash before me quickly and again I am in darkness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 20th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My vision is blurry for a few moments as I look around the bedroom I’m in. Canada is by the nightstand, reading over something I’m not sure. He turns to me and smiles lightly. <br/>“You’re awake.” He says softly. I groan and put a hand on my forehead. This headache is killer. <br/>“I am. . . Thank God.” <br/>“You seemed rather restless, I hope you weren’t too disturbed by my presence.” <br/>The memories of the labyrinth and Theo come rushing back to me and I sigh. The relief that floods me from being away from that place is immense. <br/>“You are fine, quiet as always.” I say while slowly sitting up. <br/>“Alright, take it easy. You haven’t really left this bed for the past couple of days.” He warns me. And it feels like it. My arms and legs feel heavy and tired. <br/>“What happened?” I ask. <br/>“You weren’t unconscious. . . More like experiencing something else that wasn’t happening here. You kept calling me Frances, which was interesting.” <br/>“Well. . . You do look like her.” I sigh out. <br/>“Yeah, if she was 185 (6’1) centimeters and a man.” He says with a smile. I roll my eyes playfully. <br/>“You know what I mean. You have her,” I gesture to his face, “prettiness.” <br/>“Speaking of prettiness, you look a lot better. Even your eyes are bright and red.” <br/>“Do you think I might be out of the woods?” I ask. <br/>“. . . You very well may be. Though, before you go back to Europe, I’d like to watch you for a few more days at least to make sure.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Little Out of Character</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Prussia is off healing in Canada, Germany remains alone in Munich. Follow Germany's perspective as he navigates the next few days processing feelings of unrequited love and painful memories. <br/>What's so good about Canada anyway? He's just unprofitable tundra, right?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday, November 21st, 1991 : 34 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This house isn’t the same. Everything is so quiet. Erie. <br/>I’ve been existing off of memories lately, replaying my favorites over and over again as a replacement for what I’m going through now. My focus has been destroyed, what little happiness I garnered in the last few decades melted away in just an instant, and the solitude. . . I can not stand being alone, being by myself with my thoughts. Thinking about the half alive body I carried into this house almost brings me to the verge of tears. What was worse? Seeing Prussia die on that cold table in 1947 or seeing what he is now? Is it even fair of me to ask that? Well, of course I should be happy that he’s alive, and I am, but. . . <br/>I stand up from the couch in the living room and head toward the basement, down the stairs and into his room. It’s still the same as it was in the 1930s, I didn’t have the heart to clean it out or change it in any way. After he died I used it as a place of comfort. I felt that being surrounded by the things he liked was the best substitute for him, even if it hardly came close to the ease he could put me in. <br/>The Prussian flag hangs over the headboard, a relic that joined the Holy Roman flag on the opposite wall in retirement many decades ago. It reminds me of cold, windy mornings on the coast of the Baltic sea, looking off in the direction of Sweden. With a heavy sigh I sit on the bed, running my hand across the black sheets as I turn my attention to the Holy Roman flag. That one reminds me of the valley in the Alps, Hungary tying an apron around her waist before turning on the stove and preparing whatever meal she was to make for us. Obviously I never met the Holy Roman Empire, but as a child I was constantly being compared to him. Austria has his flag hanging still as well, I guess that’s why I’m reminded of Austria and Hungary when I look at it. <br/>The best thing in this room is all the books. And not just all the classic literature on the shelves, but the beautifully bound books behind those on the shelves. I stand up from the bed and carefully remove a random book so I can reach the book behind it. 1765 is embroidered on the spine of the book with gold lettering that has faded considerably now. Prussia has a journal for almost every year between 1600 and 1915. About a quarter of them are on these bookshelves, while the rest are packed away in boxes. I liked to read them after he died. . . He never wanted anyone reading them when he was alive, and at first I felt bad about it, but it was the only way I could be close to him after he passed so. . .<br/>I open the book in my hands to a random page and begin reading. <br/>. . . and only now have I finally returned from my expedition to Vienna. I was meant to stay for a month, but could hardly stand even a week. I only stayed for twelve days. I couldn’t take how they looked at me. How they would treat me. As if I was some bloodthirsty warmonger, as if they had not known me all my life. I will admit that I have changed a bit from who I once was. I experienced things in the war previous that prevent me from being my normal self. But this is absolutely no reason to be afraid of me. <br/>Austria has been telling them that I am dangerous. That I want to conquer everything in sight. That I truly am evil. And like the Habsburg-pleasers they are, they believe his word. Even the Holy Roman Empire, the very man who raised me, taught me everything I know, loved me, looked into my eyes and was fearful, even if just for a moment. It broke my heart. To see the man I love cower, even if just slightly, from me. <br/>It all came to a head on my last night there, which is why I came home so early. Austria, the one who solves all his problems with marriage, solved the problem he had regarding me by marrying the Holy Roman Empire. And I could not bear to stay one night longer seeing him flaunt that. He knows how it hurts me. <br/> I am changed. Alone. Feared. The one man I would always find solace in, has been swept away and taught to be wary of me. <br/>Maybe they are right. Maybe Austria has a point. But it still hurts nonetheless. . .<br/>I close the book and sigh. I learned so much about him by reading these pages. . . But, honestly, I think it made the pain of losing him worse. It’s made the pain of seeing the husk he is now worse as well, since I still feel so intimately acquainted with Prussia. Or, who used to be Prussia. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 22nd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He speaks German with an accent.” <br/>“Hm?” America asks at my random statement. <br/>“Gilbert. He speaks German with an accent.” <br/>America reaches over me to grab the remote and turns off the TV. He has been checking up on me recently because of everything that has happened. We have yet to really talk about it, but I think I’m ready now. <br/>“Does that bother you?” <br/>“. . . Kind of. I don’t know, I just, he used to speak it so beautifully so to hear him speak it now is just jarring.” <br/>“He was a very eloquent speaker, that is true.” <br/>I look down at my hands for a bit as I think about all the things I could bring up at the moment. There is so much but, as usual, I have a hard time putting my thoughts into words. <br/>“That, I think, is what I’m having trouble with. He’s an entirely different person.” <br/>“Well, it has been almost sixty years. Did you think he was going to be the same after all that time?” <br/>“. . .No, I guess. . . But I didn’t expect the husk he is now.” <br/>“If it makes you feel any better,” he begins softly, “he seemed to be doing well in Canada. He has a little more weight on him and he’s considerably more coherent than he was just a few weeks ago.” <br/>“I’m glad he is doing better, but I hate that he can’t get better here. I should have been able to take care of him, but all I could do was make things worse. . . It’s scary seeing someone you’ve looked up to your entire life, someone who seemed stronger than anything, be so shaken and unhinged. He hardly even recognized me.” <br/>I’m not even sure if America could say anything that would make me feel better about this, and I think he knows that. I wouldn’t know what to say to me either. <br/>“How would you feel if Gilbert had to live outside of Germany?” I furrow my eyebrows a bit at his question. <br/>“Why do you ask?”<br/>“Some of the other nations feel it may be best for the continent if-” <br/>“Some other nations? Or France and England specifically?” I interrupt. He looks surprised for only a second, and I feel bad for even less. <br/>“Yes, they approached me about this. Honestly, I don’t give damn about where the man lives, but I’m sure you can understand their concern.” <br/>I sigh and lean back onto the couch I’m sitting on, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. I’m sure others see me do this and think I’m irritated, which is partly true, but really it helps me from getting overwhelmed. I feel like I could cry, honestly. My eyes are warming up and I’m really trying not to, because I shouldn’t, but here it goes. I suppose I’ve had all of this on my mind for too long without addressing it, so now it’s hitting me all at once. <br/>“I’m sorry I just. . . Feel like I’m in the 1950s again.” I manage, losing the battle against my emotions. I draw in a shaky breath as America moves closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. <br/>“I’m sorry we are making you feel this way, it was never my intention to make you so upset.” <br/>I allow myself to lean into his embrace and accept his apology and warmth. Ironically this only makes me feel even more like I’m in the 1950s, with him being so affectionate toward me. <br/>I could acknowledge my ever constant overbearing need for this sort of figure in my life, but I’m not going to go down that rabbit hole, I’ve had enough self-reflection the past couple of weeks. <br/>“I feel a little out of character. I do not mean to be so emotional.” I say while sitting up. <br/>“Don’t feel bad for feeling emotion, it’s only natural-” A loud pounding on my front door interrupts him. “Are you expecting someone?” He asks. <br/>“No?” I answer while standing up and walking toward the door to unlock and open it. <br/>“You bastard!!” A very angry Romano shouts at me before punching me in the face. I stumble back a bit, shocked, as he walks into my house. “I will end you!” He punches me again before America can rush over and pull him away from me. <br/>“Get your greasy hands off of me or I swear to God I will end you too!!” Romano shouts as he struggles in America’s grip. He catches my eyes and becomes enraged again. <br/>“I will end you for what you’ve done to my sister! What? You can hit women but not men? Come at me like a real man! Oh, that’s right, you’re not a man at all! Just a little fucking weasel hiding behind a name!” <br/>I’m frozen in place as I contemplate what my reaction to this should be. Of course I’m wildly furious at the moment, and I’m afraid if I react physically I will seriously injure if not kill this man for his audacity. But that’s not who I want to be. . . What would others do if they were in my position?<br/>Austria would probably reprimand him severely, pointing out all of the etiquette he had broken by barging in, unannounced no less, and hitting someone. This probably wouldn’t have happened if Italy were here, and really, it seems to me that this is because of her. Prussia would have. . . Well, I saw France punch Prussia once out of anger many decades ago and he just smirked at her. But I don’t think any of these scenarios will help me in this one. Romano doesn’t feel ashamed by having absolutely no manners, nor would a cocky attitude really help me here. <br/>In my hesitation Romano is able to break from America’s grip by elbowing him pretty hard in the stomach and rush over to me, causing us both to fall to the ground. He straddles me and punches me in the face again.<br/>“You’re such a little fucking bitch! If you ever speak to my sister again I will hurt you in ways unimaginable!” <br/>There is a lot running through my mind at the moment, it’s almost unbearable. First, I feel like I deserve this. I should let him do this to me until I’m unrecognizable, because honestly I hardly recognize myself as it is. Second, I feel like I should say something, anything to defend myself and my actions and to de-escalate this entirely random and wild event. Third, and most importantly, unyielding rage. Unfortunately for him the third one always wins out in the end. As I make up my mind to react quite negatively, however, America regains his composure and pulls the screaming Italian off of me.<br/>“What the hell are you doing?” He asks. <br/>“Giving that Nazi bastard what he deserves! I will never forgive him for laying his filthy hands on her! Ever!” Romano screams before giving me one last angry look and stomping away. America closes the door and walks over to me, offering me his hand. I take it and he helps me up. <br/>“I should have been expecting that.” I say dejectedly, feeling all my anger wash away from me as shame and sadness fill its place. <br/>“Geez Ludwig, he got you pretty good. Come here, I’ll clean it up for you.” He leads me into the kitchen and I lean on one of the counters. <br/>“If this were any other time he wouldn’t have been able to walk out of this house.” I grumble while Alfred softly cleans the blood off my face with a washcloth. <br/>“Trust me, I know. I’m amazed you didn’t fight back.” <br/>“Reunification means everything to me right now, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize it by putting Lovino in his place.” I admit. <br/>“I’m proud of you. I know how hard it can get sometimes.” He says while lifting my chin up and dabbing around my right eye with the cloth. He rinses the blood off of the cloth before dabbing around my nose. <br/>“I didn’t hit her, I’ve never hit her.” I feel the need to say. He doesn’t answer me, just continues to clean up my face. “Alfred.” <br/>“I-I don’t man, I saw the bruises. Hit or not, it was definitely rough.” <br/>I look down and bite my lower lip. I have nothing to say to that. I did bruise her. . . But I highly doubt explaining how they came about would help my situation. Hurting her was the last thing I ever wanted to do. . . </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 23rd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I spend most of my nights in the basement, like I did when I first thought I lost Prussia. There is something comforting about sleeping in this bed, surrounded by things that make him, well, him. I sit on the bed and run my hand across the neat sheets, remembering how he would sit cross legged at the edge, all sorts of papers and books spread out before him. His brow would be slightly creased as he looked over them, deep in thought. When he finally noticed my presence he’d glance up at me, red eyes stealing all the breath from my body. <br/>“What do you want?” He asked. <br/>There were a lot of answers that ran through my mind as he asked me this one night in particular. I approached the bed he was sitting on and began to move the papers and books. <br/>“Germany. . .” He sighed out. Once the bed was cleared, I crawled onto it and he lifted an eyebrow. I was so nervous, heart beating wildly against my ribcage. But that time was different, different than the time in the forest in Austria. I was older, I had experience, we were no longer living with Austria. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I needed release, I needed him. <br/>“What are you up to?” He asked. I’d never been really good with words, and with all the anxiety coursing through me there was no way I could ever admit to him what I wanted. I placed my hand on his knee and slowly started feeling up his thigh. He stopped my hand before I could reach the top. I looked up at him and his eyes were filled with questions, hesitation. I remember not wanting to give him a chance to protest, so I moved up the bed to straddle him. His hands came up to my chest, maybe to push me off, so I grabbed his wrists and pinned them on either side of him above his head. It was then or never, I thought, and kissed him. <br/>At first he didn’t respond much to me, trying to free his wrists from my grip, but eventually he parted his lips and I melted. Never in my life had I felt so euphoric, his lips moving against mine, tongues exploring. His skin was so soft, body small and lithe compared to mine. I felt like everything fit together perfectly, all the sensations, us together like that. It had only happened in my dreams before, it was surreal. <br/>It’s hard for me to explain the connection between us, no words come to mind when I try to put it in a sentence. Sometimes I feel like I’ve known him before I was even alive, these faint memories of some distant past will come to me and I feel this nostalgic passion come over me. The first time I ever felt this way was many, many decades ago in Northern Prussia when he was teaching me properties of the plants around us. It was almost like a switch, I looked up at him and all of a sudden this feeling hit me like a wave. I remember thinking about how handsome he was and how his voice made me feel. From that day forward it just kept getting worse.<br/>As we broke a part I looked over his face, beautiful pale skin contrasting against red swollen lips. I shifted my hips against him and we locked eyes as he gasped. Again, I pushed up against him and he bit his lower lip. His face, that moan, I could hardly process. <br/>“Ludwig, we’ve talked about this.” He said in a voice so soft and airy, so uncharacteristic I still remember it vividly. <br/>“I know. . . But I’m older now and. . .” I had so much to say but nothing came out. I still wonder what would have happened if I was more eloquent with my words. <br/>“This isn’t about age, Germany. I don’t think we should be doing this.” <br/>“You can’t tell me that you don’t want this, even if just a little.” <br/>“That doesn’t matter-” <br/>“You do, so why are you resisting it?” I remember tightening my hands around his wrists enough to make him yelp. He looked startled, and it threw me off. I immediately regretted it and I still do. <br/>In my hesitance he pushed me off of him and flipped our positions. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me, eyes intense and face serious. Nerves chilled me to the bone, my heart throbbed against my chest as his eyes searched mine like he was reading into my soul. His body over mine, those eyes, his thigh pressed tightly in between my legs.<br/>“You’ve been very disobedient recently,” he began in a low voice, “and it’s worrying me. Not because I think you will win in this power struggle, but because you will lose. I would hate to have to put you in your place but I will, do you understand me?” <br/>“Yes.” I answered, expectant waves of pleasure running up my thighs and heating up my groin. His thigh pressed against me like that, I could hardly stand it. His hands around my wrists, his proximity, his eyes, I couldn’t. Even thinking about it now makes me blush. <br/>I remember his intense look softening considerably as he got off me and laid down beside me. <br/>“I know you hate it, but sometimes you’re too similar to Holy Rome for your own good.” <br/>“. . . I’m sorry.”<br/>“Don’t be. You know, him and I were good friends. Seeing him in you makes me reminisce, but you sure are ambitious like he was.” <br/>I lean back on the bed and groan. Sometimes I want things a little too much and it ends up ruining everything. . . My greatest fault. <br/>The phone begins to ring upstairs in the kitchen and I sigh. It’s probably important. <br/>Making myself stand up, I head over to the kitchen and answer the phone. <br/>“Hey, sorry I’m calling so late, but I wanted to let you know that I won’t be at tomorrow’s meeting.” America’s voice comes through. <br/>“What? Why?” I ask, trying not to sound panicked. <br/>“Some things came up and I have to be in France for a little while before going to Canada. I know you feel better with me there, but you’ll do just fine. I wouldn’t be letting you do this alone if you couldn’t do it.” <br/>“A-alright, sure. Is everything fine in Canada?” <br/>“Yes, Prussia is fine if that is what you are trying to ask. Maybe a little too fine” He laughs. <br/>“Too fine?” <br/>“I think something is going on between him and Canada. I already made a bet with England about it, I’m hardly wrong when it comes to things like this.”<br/>“Oh, well, that’s interesting.” I say softly, trying not to sound upset or jealous. <br/>“It is, but I think it’ll be good for both of them. Lord knows how isolated Canada has been all these years. . . Anyway, thanks for understanding. I’ll make it up to you later.” <br/>“Of course.” <br/>I hang up the phone and sigh deeply. I’m happy for them, truly. I’ve just never been good at sharing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 24th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course everyone is staring. <br/>The meeting goes smoothly for all intents and purposes, but their staring at me made me wildly uncomfortable. During the break I overheard England and Slovakia speaking about me in the restroom. Wondering where I got the black eye from, am I showing signs of violence again, can I truly be trusted, should they take more serious steps toward keeping me weak. . . How I’m known to break promises. <br/>I just stood there, listening to their doubts until they left. <br/>I remember America telling me everything was going to be okay. Maybe it will be. Maybe everything will be alright. <br/>I walk up to the mirror and look at my black eye. Maybe if they ask what happened I can say that I fell or tripped or something. It shouldn’t be that hard to believe. . . right? <br/>I wash my hands and give my face one last look over before walking toward the bathroom door. The door opens before I can pull it open and my eyes meet Russia’s. <br/>“Hm, so this is where you ran off to.” He says while closing the door behind him and standing in my way. <br/>“Yes, as one does when they need to use the restroom.” I answer coolly. <br/>“True. Or, you are hiding from what the others are whispering about you. Get into another fight?” His voice makes my blood boil, it’s so patronizing, like he’s talking to a child. <br/>“I fell.” <br/>The right side of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. <br/>“Oh yes, of course you did.” <br/>I roll my eyes and try to move past him but he blocks me again. <br/>“Russia, I’m just trying to go back to the meeting.” <br/>“You know I love this. Their doubts about whether or not to trust you, their fear in letting you become whole again. It makes me giddy.” I bite my lower lip to stop myself from talking back. “I noticed your little North American hero isn’t here. Has he finally seen you for what you are?” He taunts further. <br/>“He had business elsewhere, he is a busy man.” <br/>“Eh, he makes time for those he cares about, which I can see is no longer you. Just like the small Italian girl, I’ve seen the bruises Germany you are rather ferocious.” <br/>“How?. . .” I ask mostly to myself. <br/>“Really? Have you yet to understand that I know everything there is to know about Europe and the petty little dramas between you? I paid Felicia a little visit not too long ago and expressed my worry for her and how violent you were to her. You know we used to be rather close when the Roman Empire was still around.” <br/>“Don’t you go near her.” I warn. <br/>“Oh? But I’ve never laid a violent hand on her. I’ve always been gentle.” <br/>I’m trying to stay calm but he’s making it rather difficult. My heart beat is racing in my chest as I can feel anger well up inside of me. I need to get away from this. <br/>“Look, I’m sure the meeting has started again, we should get back.” I say in a tense voice. He just chuckles. <br/>“I don’t think so, this is too much fun. And anyway, I wanted to let you know personally that Prussia is officially a part of my territory, not this little eastern half you’ve been desperately trying to rejoin with.” <br/>My eyes widen and the world stops. <br/>“What? Y-you’re lying.” <br/>“I’m afraid not. He’s still just as much mine as he was thirty years ago.” He says with a smirk. I need to leave, I can’t stand this, I can’t be here. I try pushing past him but he just pushes me back. <br/>“Running away again, Germany? Going to go surrender to the west and cry for America?” <br/>“Fuck you.” I say before doing something I know will get him out of the way albeit rather violent. I knee him as hard as I can in between the legs and watch him fall down like a ton of bricks. He groans and curls up, a pained expression marking his face. <br/>“I tried asking you nicely.” I say, a little shocked with myself. <br/>“I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t done that.” He says in a tense voice. <br/>“Maybe don’t be so annoying, then you won’t win painful prizes.” <br/>“Ahh.” He whimpers, writhing in agony. I bite my lip to stop myself from smirking, and chastise myself mentally for enjoying this. I shouldn’t have done what I did. <br/>I kneel down beside him and sigh. <br/>“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” I say, awkwardly placing my hand on his shoulder. <br/>“Fuck off.” He growls at me. I take my hand away and sit back on my heels. He puts a hand on his stomach and grimaces. <br/>“If you’re going to get sick you should get up.” I suggest. He winces as he slowly tries to stand up. I help him get back on his feet and over to one of the stalls. I lean against the door as he throws up. I wince at the sound and run a hand through my hair. So much for trying to convince people of my changed attitude. <br/>“Are you alright?” I venture asking. <br/>“No, obviously,” he bites back, “I see you still get off on causing me immense pain.” <br/>“I don’t. . . And anyway, you blocked my way and verbally assaulted me, you are not innocent here.” He groans before answering me. <br/>“Whatever, I guess.” He manages in a tense voice.<br/>“I’ll be right back.” I say as I exit the bathroom. There is a small ice machine in the middle of the hallway and a few plastic bags. I take one and fill it with ice before heading back into the bathroom. He’s standing before the counter now, bent forward slightly with his hands on the marble. <br/>“Here, this will help.” I say while handing him the bag of ice. He gives me a wary look before taking it and placing it in between his legs. <br/>“Fuck you for doing that to me and then being nice.” He says in a soft, exhausted voice. <br/>“I truly am sorry. . . I’m honestly working on my reaction to things. I shouldn’t have done that, even if you were being difficult.” <br/>“Well. . . I probably could have not said the things I said.” <br/>We stand in silence for a while as he ices himself. Eventually he throws the bag of ice into the trash and I look up at him. <br/>“Now that I can’t feel anything below the waist, we can return to the meeting.” I nod at his suggestion and make a move to leave, but he stands in front of me and places either hand on the counter beside me. Our proximity causes me to look up at him. “Just because you helped me doesn’t mean you are out of the woods. I still don’t like you, not even a little.” His intense glare and serious voice cause shivers to go down my spine. He looks into my eyes for a few more seconds before moving away and exiting the bathroom. <br/>I take a deep breath and sigh it out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 25th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another dinner alone, sitting at the dining table with only a single bulb lighting up this pathetic scene. It’s hard for me not to feel sorry for myself, which just makes me feel even more pathetic. Why should I be having a hard time right now? Prussia was the one who had to go through literal hell for the last sixty years. . . Not that my time was easy but compared to his it was a walk in the park. . . Well, actually, I have no idea what really happened to him. Something horrible for sure, but what exactly I have no clue.<br/>The phone begins to ring on the other side of the kitchen and I sigh. I wonder if it’s America calling to apologize for lying to me. That meeting was considerably worse without him there. <br/>“Hello?” I answer the phone. <br/>“Germany, hi, this is Canada.” <br/>“Oh, hey.” Don’t sound so hostile, he’s just trying to help. <br/>“I wanted to let you know that Gilbert has improved tremendously. He should be able to return home by the end of next week.” <br/>“That’s great news. Thank you so much for all your help.” <br/>“No problem.” <br/>The line is silent for a few moments before I speak up again. <br/>“Will you be coming to Europe again as well?” <br/>“. . . Well yes, but only because France is making me, otherwise I would love to remain in North America.” <br/>“Ah, alright. I suppose I will see you then.” <br/>I let out a sigh of relief as I hang up the phone. Maybe America was wrong, perhaps nothing is going on between those two. . . Not that I should care, I really shouldn’t.<br/>Feeling down, I head back into the basement to lie down on the bed. I really shouldn’t care, but I can’t help but feel Prussia is being taken away from me again. What if America is right and they do have feelings for one another? Does that mean he’ll go live in North America? Will most of his thoughts be about that weird, quiet nation no one talks to?<br/>What does he see in Canada of all people? Is it because he is a doctor? It’s not like that’s very impressive, millions of humans study medicine, it’s not some innate gift. I can’t think of any other reason why he would like Canada so much, he is such a bland person, no depth, no character, just a pretty face. I know for a fact Prussia is not that shallow, there is no way he would be attracted to him only because he’s beautiful. So what is it? Is it something I don’t have? I mean, I can speak French, better than I can English honestly. Not that that should matter, but if that’s why he likes him so much then he can find that in me. . . I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be so jealous. . . But I can’t help it. <br/>In a few moments I’m back in the kitchen, dialing a familiar number. The phone rings a few times before one of Austria’s servants answers the phone. I’m put on hold for a minute or two before Austria answers. <br/>“As wonderful as it is to hear from you Ludwig, do you have any idea what time it is?” <br/>“Yes, sorry, I- this is urgent.” <br/>“Is everything alright?” <br/>“Perhaps. . . I just wanted to know what you knew about Canada.” <br/>“What I know about Canada? This is your urgent question?” <br/>“Yes.” <br/>“. . . Alright, well, I don’t know an awful lot about him. We were well acquainted when I was married to France, but that was in the 1700s and he was just a boy.” <br/>“What was he like then?” I ask. <br/>“Precocious to say the least. He was a very smart boy who knew how to act at court, very talented. He would have done amazing things had he not been ripped away from his mother. He’s a lot more reserved now.” <br/>“Hmm, I wonder why.” I muse out loud. <br/>“Rumor has it that England beat anything and everything French out of that boy when he went to live with him in America. He looked and acted too much like France for his liking I suppose.” <br/>“That’s actually quite horrible. . .” I admit. <br/>“France and England’s rivalry was something to behold, that is for sure. You know this, they still fight like a feral cat and a house dog. Anyway, why are you so curious about the North American nation?” <br/>“I guess I realized how much I don’t know him. I just wanted to know your opinion, you’re a good judge of character.” I compliment, just to get his mind off my strange reason for calling. <br/>“I only say how I see it,” He says in that self-congratulating tone, “I hope you are doing alright all alone in Munich. You are welcome over anytime you wish, I’m allowed to have guests now without running it by Russia first.” I can practically hear his eyes roll as he says Russia. It causes me to smile. <br/>“He is quite insufferable.” If my last encounter with him can attest to anything. <br/>“He wasn’t always like that, but I’m afraid this is just who he is now. Speaking of, did you hear that he collapsed during a meeting with America?” <br/>“No? When did he meet with America? I didn’t think Alfred was in Europe.” <br/>“He left for North America today according to France. She said something about him taking Sealand to Canada or something like this, I guess that is why he was absent at our last meeting. Something happened and he had to take care of him for a bit.” <br/>“Huh. . . I should talk to you more often.” He laughs a bit. <br/>“You should, you know it gets very lonely when I’m the only one on this large estate. My only interaction with others is from my human servants. I think Russia liked keeping me idle, it drives me insane.” <br/>“He probably did, he knows exactly what bothers people. . . You said he collapsed?” <br/>“Oh, yes, fell right out apparently. Spooked America to the bone.” <br/>“Interesting.” <br/>“Indeed. . . Anyway, as much as I love filling you in on gossip, it is so late and I am just about dying standing here.” <br/>“Oh, of course, sorry. Thanks again.” <br/>“Certainly, darling.” <br/>I sigh as I hang up the phone. Maybe I should speak with Austria more often. </p>
<p>November 26th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The night air has finally cooled down to a refreshing temperature, making the night immensely pleasurable. I see most of the creatures in the garden feel the same. Crickets happily sing their bliss as the birds cozy up in their nests for the night. Summer flowers are slowly starting to retire, giving way to hardier plants that will survive the coming snow. The lanterns hung along the trail attract little bugs that fly about lazily. The scene before me is beautiful, but one thing in particular sells me on the aesthetic nature of this picture - Prussia. <br/>The moonlight does him wonders, highlighting the youth and smoothness of his face. He is unique to say the least, exotic. I know others find him strange, or even unsettling to look at, but I can’t peel my eyes away. I don’t fear the fire in his eyes, quite the opposite actually. My heart skips a beat, fills up with so much emotion I can hardly stand the pressure. I don’t know if I should reprimand Hungary or thank her for the way she tells him to dress. Everything suits him so well, brings out the best parts of his figure, calls my attention away from his eyes. He’s just so. . . so-<br/>“Idyllic, isn’t it?” Felicia asks while holding my arm tighter. <br/>“Uh, what?” I ask, snapping out of my trance. <br/>“The night. It’s perfect.” She says with a smile. I smile back and wrap my arm around her shoulders. <br/>“It is.” <br/>“What do you think Prussia and Austria are talking about?” <br/>“I think I heard one of them say Serbia.” <br/>“Oh, don’t speak like that. I hate the prospect of war.” I chuckle a bit and hold her closer. <br/>“It’ll be alright, I wouldn’t let any harm come to you.” <br/>She sighs softly and allows herself to rest into me. A few peaceful moments pass like this until Austria and Hungary approach us. <br/>“Time already?” Felicia asks with a cute yawn. <br/>“Yes, it is almost midnight. Come now.” Hungary says. Felicia kisses my cheek before getting up and following Hungary back toward the manor. I feel Austria’s eyes on me as I watch her walk away. <br/>“I hope that you’ve kept everything appropriate.” He states. <br/>“Of course.” I say while looking up at him, resisting to smirk at how much of a lie that is. <br/>“Good. Felicia is much too innocent.” <br/>Before I can say anything to this Prussia walks up to us and sits next to me on the bench. <br/>“I’m sure your wife would love your company.” Gilbert says nonchalantly. <br/>“Good night, Prussia.” He answers before turning and walking the direction Italy and Hungary went in. <br/>“Look at the way he walks, so fucking prissy.” Prussia laughs causing me to smile. “So, I see you and Italy are getting pretty serious.” <br/>“Yeah, you could say that.” <br/>“Do you love her?” <br/>“Wh-what? I-I don’t know.” I stutter out. He just smirks at me, putting his arm on the back of the bench and leaning back. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” <br/>“Why are you getting all flustered? I just asked a simple question.” <br/>“You know why.” I say, failing to stop my eyes from trailing down his chest and stomach. <br/>We sit in silence for a while, watching the perfect scene before us. The longer we sit alone together the more that weird feeling inside bothers me. I’m reminded of the time I tried kissing him in the forest not too far from here, of all the times I found myself flustered around him, that time I accidentally walked in on him hardly dressed. I take a deep breath to try and whisk the thoughts away. <br/>“How would you know?” I ask out of the blue. <br/>“Hm?” <br/>“How would I know if I loved her?” <br/>The way his smile lights up his eyes makes my heart flutter and I fear I’ve gotten my answer from that alone. <br/>“You’d know. Being in love is horrible, it’s like having all of your faculties taken away and replaced with obsession and desperation. I don’t recommend it, kid.” <br/>“You’ve been in love before?” <br/>“Yeah, a long time ago. I never will again.” <br/>His answer hurts me a bit, but I don’t show it. If I could have one thing in this life it would be for him to love me the way I do him. But I’m convinced of that possibility less and less as time goes on. <br/>And anyway, I have Italy. She’s sweet, smart, incredibly beautiful, what is there not to love about her? I’m sure in time I’ll fall for her the way I did with Prussia. I pray that I do. <br/>The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up and I groan. I’m not going to answer that. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 27th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Austria crosses his legs and looks me over.<br/>“You look horrible, how have you been sleeping?” <br/>“Here and there. . . It’s not the greatest time for me right now, as I’m sure you know.” I answer. He adjusts the teacup before him on the coffee table but never actually picks it up. <br/>“You know I always thought you and Felicia were mismatched.” I roll my eyes. <br/>“Because she could do better?” I quip, feeling unusually sassy. <br/>“Yes, actually, I did think that. But now, I honestly think you are both wonderful people who deserve to be with someone who will make you happy. You two could work amazingly as friends but as a couple I’m sorry I just never saw it.” He answers matter of factly. I sigh and lean back in my chair. <br/>“Honestly, you’re probably right.” <br/>“Well of course I am.” <br/>I laugh a bit and he smiles lightly. <br/>“I got a call from Canada not long ago, he said that Prussia was well enough to come back.” <br/>Austria finally picks up the teacup and takes a small sip from it. He appears to be deep in thought as the cup remains in his hand for a few moments before he actually sets it down. <br/>“You do know that he may not come back here, yes? Russia has full autonomy over whatever Prussia happens to be these days.” <br/>“I-I know that, I just. . .” I’m not really sure of the words I want to say so I don’t. Austria sighs deeply before uncrossing his legs and resting his forearms on his knees. <br/>“This isn’t about Felicia, is it?” <br/>“I-I of course it is, she’s the world to me I-” <br/>“I don’t doubt that you love her in your own way,” He interrupts, “but your heart doesn’t and never did belong to her. You think those little bruises on her arm is why she really left you? Do you honestly think it was a coincidence that right when Prussia came back to this house your relationship with her fell apart?” I open my mouth to say something but I have nothing. “I know you, Ludwig. I practically raised you. . . So, I know how you feel about Prussia.” <br/>“Prussia is like a father to me.” <br/>“I’m like a father to you, Prussia is something more.” <br/>Silence hangs in the living room as his words sink in. He takes my silence as a chance to keep hounding in on the subject. <br/>“And maybe I should have confronted you sooner about this but. . . This attachment, obsession you have with him, isn’t healthy. Especially when he will never return the kind of feelings you have.” <br/>“How dare you say something like that to me, or even suggest that I. . . I’m not obsessed with him, I care about him as I should.” <br/>“Sixty years, Ludwig, he had been gone for sixty years and you never healed. Now, I understand what it’s like to love someone then lose them, and I understand how long it takes for the heart to heal but sixty years and no progress? Year one to year sixty, yearning for him the same with the same amount of hurt in your heart. That kind of pain changes people, Germany. Do you want to be someone like Russia?” <br/>“What do you want me to say? Of course not, but it’s not like I choose to feel this way.” I cringe at the emotion in my voice. <br/>“I want you to tell me that you’ll let him go. You need to move on.” <br/>“I don’t know what you think has gone on between Prussia and I, but honestly, whatever it is is none of your business.” <br/>Austria pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs out. <br/>“You remind me so much of Holy Rome sometimes.” <br/>“I’m nothing like him.”<br/>“How would you know?” He asks while looking up to me, “I was married to him, I know full and well what he was like. And sometimes I can barely tell the difference between you two. And now, it would seem, you have that same sick desire for Prussia.” <br/>I start to feel the beginnings of anger well up in my chest as I furrow my eyebrows. <br/>“Sick? What is that supposed to mean?” <br/>“Ludwig,” he sighs out, “look at you. Do you think I like seeing you like this? Do you have any idea how much I care for you? I may seem like an aloof wall at times, but I care for you dearly, like my own son. I want to see you happy, thriving, being your best self. But that can not happen if you continue feeling this way for Prussia.” I feel my anger wash away at his tender voice. I would be lying to myself if I said I didn’t love Prussia. . . I would also be lying to myself if I said that love wasn’t eating me up inside. “He will never love you the way you love him.” <br/>His final statement was the last straw for me. Hot tears well up in my eyes as I realize he’s absolutely right. I’ve known this for a while, but really admitting it to myself hurts so much I wish I could just stop. Austria’s expression turns sympathetic as he sits next to me and wraps his arms around me. He softly rubs my back while I cry into him. I hate this, I hate this weakness I’m showing, but I can’t help it. <br/>“I love him so much,” I manage, “I just wish I could stop.” <br/>“I know.” He says softly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. No Way We Could Be Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As we return to Prussia's POV, it is clear there is a tension in the air. Canada is a bit hypocritical now is he.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wednesday, November 28th, 1991: 28 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft knock near the entrance to the guest room calls my attention to Canada standing against the door frame.<br/>
“Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?” He asks.<br/>
“A movie? Where?”<br/>
“Here. I have a few VHS tapes, you can choose.”<br/>
“VHS?” I ask.<br/>
“Yeah. . . Come on, I’ll show you.”<br/>
I follow him into the living room and sit down where he gestures to. He picks up a small cardboard box and puts it in my lap.<br/>
“These are tapes, pick one and we will watch that movie.” He says while sitting next to me. I smile a bit as I go through the different tapes in the box.<br/>
“I’ve never heard of any of these. . . The Shining? This looks a little unnerving.” I comment. He laughs.<br/>
“Yeah, I mostly have horror films. I highly doubt American media ever reached you in Russia anyway.”<br/>
“No, it never did, that kind of stuff was illegal. . . Though I did listen to American and British news a lot.” I say while picking up a tape called Poltergeist.<br/>
“Oh, that one’s good.”<br/>
“Ah, it seems. . . evil.” I say while placing it back down.<br/>
“I forgot that you were rather superstitious, paranormal things make you uncomfortable?” He asks in a teasing manner.<br/>
“You could say that, I just don’t like inviting that kind of energy in my life. Even as a priest I never engaged in,” I begin while moving aside a tape called Children of the Corn, “that side of things.”<br/>
He laughs again and pulls out a tape from the bottom of the box.<br/>
“How about this one. It’s the only kid-friendly movie I have.” He hands me the tape and I roll my eyes and look over it.<br/>
“What is this?”<br/>
“The Secret of NIMH. It’s an animated movie about a mouse who must save her home before a tractor destroys it. Of course along the way, she learns the secret of NIMH.”<br/>
“Animated. . .” I repeat, not understanding the English word.<br/>
“Yes, animated.” He says in French.<br/>
“Oh, I see. I’ve seen a few animated films in the 30s.” I also switch to French.<br/>
“Only in the 30s?”<br/>
“Unfortunately, Russia wasn’t really one for film or TV. He preferred books and made that quite clear.” He’s smiling at me in a way that makes me shift a bit. “What? You are looking at me like I’ve told you the most extraordinary thing.”<br/>
“Nothing, I just forgot how well you spoke French.” He comments.<br/>
“Well, it is my third language.”<br/>
“It is my first.” He says before taking the tape from me and walking over toward the TV.<br/>
“What were your first five?”<br/>
“Five?” He asks, a bit surprised, “bold of you to assume I know five languages.”<br/>
“Do you not?”<br/>
“I mean, I know six, but it was still a bold assumption.” He laughs.<br/>
“What are they?” I ask as he comes back over to me and sits down.<br/>
“In order: French, Russian, Italian, English, decent German, okay Mandarin.”<br/>
“Russian is your second language? How?”<br/>
“Well, my mother had a relationship with Russia when I was a child so I ended up learning it from him.”<br/>
“Wasn’t France married to Austria at one point? And you never learned German?” I tease.<br/>
“To his credit he tried, but. . . truthfully I thought the language a bit barbaric so never really paid attention to his lessons. I don’t think that now though, it is a wonderful language, truly, I just had France in my ear when I was younger.” He says quickly in an attempt to make up for the fact he thought German was barbaric.<br/>
“That’s alright, I understand that the connection between France and us German states were, how do you say, grim.”<br/>
He gives me a little smile before turning on the TV.<br/>
“I’m surprised Russia didn’t like films,” he changes the subject, “the Russian films that have come out over the past few decades were pretty good.”<br/>
“Oh, well, he did like a few. . . Alexander Nevsky in particular, but that came out before the war and. . .” The film was a bit brutal to say the least, or, at least watching the Teutonic Knights drown was. It is true, I fell into the lake trying to fight him, but not like that.<br/>
“It’s okay. I understand.” He says while placing his hand on my thigh.<br/>
The movie is beautiful and, unsurprisingly, unlike anything I have ever seen. I felt like I was watching a painting move and speak to me, the characters felt so real and the voices were so clear. Canada would smile every single time I commented on the beauty of the film, or when I would get too invested in the plot. It’s days like this that make me forget why I’m here in the first place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 29th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do you feel today? Energy wise.” Matthew asks me over breakfast.<br/>
“Pretty good.”<br/>
“Would you be up for taking a drive out to the town? I need to pick up a few things.”<br/>
“I couldn’t see why not.” He smiles and picks up our plates before heading over to the sink.<br/>
“Perfect. The drive is a bit long so you’ll have plenty of time to rest before and after. You should also take a jacket. It is supposed to snow today.”<br/>
I thought the snow would bother me but it doesn’t. I find it peaceful, watching it fall slowly from the car window. Canada wasn’t kidding when he said the nearest town was a long drive, it takes us nearly sixty minutes to reach just the outskirts of the small development. It sure is cute though.<br/>
We pull into a parking lot and he sighs.<br/>
“Sometimes it’s hard to justify driving this long to spend twenty minutes in a store.” He comments while turning the truck off.<br/>
“Could you move closer?” I offer.<br/>
“I could. . . but I like the silence.”<br/>
“Hmm.”<br/>
We are mostly silent as we walk through the store, really I’m speechless. My attention is caught by the produce section and I stand and stare at it for a while. I feel him stand next to me and cross his arms.<br/>
“Do you want something?” He asks softly. I shake my head slowly, looking for the words I want to say.<br/>
“This sounds silly but I feel like I could cry. . . There is so much here.” I almost whisper. He smiles and laughs a bit.<br/>
“It’s just produce.”<br/>
“Not just produce. . . The store I used to live near never looked like this. I mean,” I begin, walking over to the apple section, “we had one kind of apple if there were apples at all. This is insane, how do you choose?”<br/>
“I like the red ones.” He says, picking one up and putting it in the hand held basket.<br/>
“Wow.” I breathe out, causing him to smile.<br/>
“You’re cute.” He comments before picking up another apple and giving me what I can only describe as a smirk. My cheeks and stomach heat up and I look down. “Come on, if this section makes you want to cry wait till you see the bakery.”<br/>
We spend a lot more time in the store than he was probably planning on. I couldn’t help but to look at all of the food. And not just that, but the options! There were different brands for everything, sometimes an entire section devoted to one type of thing and the numerous brands that supplied it. Needless to say by the time we got back to the car I had a headache.<br/>
“If you still have it when we get back to the house I’ll give you some Advil.” He offers.<br/>
“Thank you.” I say softly, watching the snow begin to pick up outside.<br/>
About thirty minutes into our drive the snow starts to pick up considerably, and around forty-five minutes in I feel the car begin to slow down before coming to a stop. I open my eyes and look around.<br/>
“Is everything alright?” I ask.<br/>
“There is too much snow on the road. I usually have chains on the wheels but this is the first good snow of the year so I haven’t put them back on yet. My mistake.”<br/>
“Hmm.” I hum a bit anxiously.<br/>
“Don’t worry, we are only ten minutes or so away from the house, when the snow dies down a bit we will continue.”<br/>
“Okay.” I sigh out, closing my eyes and willing myself to go back to sleep. Being stuck in the snow makes me incredibly anxious, I don’t like being trapped in the cold. Yet all I can think about is an icy grip, so cold it burns, that familiar tired feeling as everything gets harder and harder to move. Laughing at nothing and drifting off to have a comfortable nap, only to not wake up.<br/>
“It’s so cold.” I say, seeing my breath.<br/>
“It is.” I look over and notice goosebumps on his arms.<br/>
“Are you going to be alright?”<br/>
“Yes, but I’m going to move to the backseat.” I watch him unbuckle his seatbelt and crawl into the back. He unfolds a plaid blanket and covers himself with it. “This sucks, I apologize, it is unlike me to be so ill prepared for something like this.”<br/>
“It’s okay.” My words shake as my teeth chatter.<br/>
“It really isn’t. Would you like to join me? I could probably keep you warmer than the jacket you have on.”<br/>
I try to fight the blush that threats my cheeks as I nod and crawl into the back with him. I take off my jacket and he puts the blanket over us, wrapping his arms around me. He is considerably warm and I feel my body relax into his. He stiffens as I nuzzle into his neck.<br/>
“Sorry.” I apologize.<br/>
“It’s alright.” He says while placing one of his hands on my lower back. I splay my hand out on his chest and he pulls me closer, his heart beat picking up a little. I bite my lip to control my body’s reaction to all of this. We are just trying to stay warm, no need to get excited. But my body disobeys my wishes, and I’m sure he can feel that.<br/>
After a few moments I shift to get a little more comfortable and that’s when I feel how much this has impacted him as well. He sighs at my squirming, shifting a bit himself. Eventually it is clear neither of us can remain still, and one glorious movement puts our hips together in such a delicious way. I’m starting to thank the snow outside.<br/>
A shaky breath leaves him and I bite my lip. The feeling is wonderful, bubbling up in my stomach and groin. Our hips begin to move together timidly, creating the loveliest of friction. Just before I can really get into it his hands come down to my hips and separate us. I look into his eyes, faint blush across his cheeks.<br/>
“We shouldn’t.” He whispers. I cup his cheek and sigh.<br/>
“I still fail to see why.”<br/>
“I’m in a position of power over you, I should not abuse this.”<br/>
“Position of power?” I ask while pushing my hips forward, leaving his grip and grind against him roughly. His eyelids flutter as a pleasurable sigh leaves him.<br/>
“Please, you’re making this unimaginably difficult for me.” He begs.<br/>
“This is difficult for me as well, you have no idea how much I want this.”<br/>
“It is you who has no idea how much I want this.”<br/>
“Then let go.” I offer, grinding into him once more. He moans softly and meets my hips, beautiful eyes struggling to remain open. The air is filled with our panting, the windows begin to fog up. That familiar, white hot sensation begins pooling in my groin and I know I’m almost done for. I look at him just in time to see his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise.<br/>
“Oh, goddammit, fuck.” he whimpers, moving me off of him and sitting up. Startled, I look at him worriedly.<br/>
“Are you alright?” I ask nervously, watching him place a hand on the car seat before him while the other grips himself tightly over his pants.<br/>
“Yes, just, we really shouldn’t. . .” He practically moans, closing his eyes tightly. I was afraid I had hurt him but I see now he is trying not to orgasm. It’s amusing to watch him fight so hard, but upsetting that he would not allow himself to. I was almost there myself, but the prospect of hurting him killed my excitement.<br/>
He sighs and relaxes back into the seat.<br/>
“Gilbert,” he sighs out, closing his eyes, “please stop making this so hard.”<br/>
“You’re not innocent here, I hope you recognize.” He looks at me, a look of confusion on his face.<br/>
“What do you mean?”<br/>
“Really?” I ask a bit incredulously. “Do you not know how you look at me? Or the gentle touches that linger for longer than just an innocent graze? Inviting me to press my body against yours in this tight space? How do you expect me to react? We have history, it is not like this is coming out of nowhere, you know full and well what is between us.” I’m rather irritated at his insinuation that he is some saintly, innocent figure who is being constantly tempted by me - a person who can not control themselves nor their most basic desires. I admit that I have been eager to start things, but he is by no means blameless. Not to mention this is a sore spot for me, being seen as some sort of unruly seducer.<br/>
“. . . My apologies, I do not mean to upset you. I-I understand our history perfectly, I had hoped it wouldn’t have gotten in the way of my ability to help you. I see now that was rather foolish of me to believe.”<br/>
I sigh and place my hand on his knee.<br/>
“You have helped me considerably, there is no doubt in that.” His gaze meets mine for a few moments before it trails down my body.<br/>
“You look cold still, here.” He says while laying the blanket over me. “The snow has let up enough for us to go home. You are welcome to stay back here if you wish.” I watch him climb back into the driver's seat and I stifle a sigh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>November 30th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Canadian wilderness is gorgeous. It fills me with nostalgia as the cold, late fall wind blows through the dark green pines. It reminds me so much of home. . . It’s only missing a sandy shoreline.<br/>
“We can go out in it if you’d like.” Canada says, leaning on the tree I’m sitting under.<br/>
“I’d love that. . . But I have my doubts on whether or not we can.” I say while pointing to the dark clouds off to the south.<br/>
“Ah, that’s right. The forecast did mention a record breaking storm.”<br/>
He sits next to me and looks off into the forest.<br/>
“You have a look of longing on your face.” He comments. I take a deep breath before answering.<br/>
“It kind of reminds me of home. . . A home that’s no longer mine, I guess. It was cold like this, filled with these dark green pines. My house was a short jog from the shoreline, hidden from the main roads and the little trails.” We sit in silence for a while, probably because Canada has nothing to say to me, and that’s okay. Our silence is comfortable, even after yesterday. Speaking of.<br/>
“So, yesterday. . .” I begin.<br/>
“. . . Uh, I’m not really sure what to say about it. . .”<br/>
“Do you still feel like this is wrong? If you tell me right now that you don’t want anything like we had after the war I promise you I will stop.”<br/>
“I don’t think it’s wrong per se, just. . . you are vulnerable and sometimes not entirely clear, and I do not want to make things worse by triggering you or pushing you past your boundaries.”<br/>
I cup his cheek and give him a sincere look.<br/>
“I appreciate your consideration and respect.”<br/>
“Of course.” He says softly before biting his lip. And he says I make this hard! Our lips only brush before the sound of someone clearing their throat reaches us.<br/>
He gasps and pulls away from me and I look up.<br/>
“England so owes me thirty euros.” America says while smirking at us. Canada groans.<br/>
“What in the hell are you doing here?” He asks.<br/>
“Oh, nice to see you too Matthew.” He teases.<br/>
“You have thirty seconds to give me a good reason Alfred, or I swear to God I’ll-”<br/>
“Okay, okay, calm down. I’m here for a good reason, and I showed up unannounced so you couldn’t weasel your way out of seeing me. Some stuff went down in Europe and I have Sealand with me. . . He refuses to go back to England and wants to live with me but I can’t take care of a child right now, not when I’m never in The States.”<br/>
“So you thought I could take care of a child, America? With Prussia here no less, you know what Sealand was created for.”<br/>
“. . . Well, now that you say it I guess it does kind of seem like a bad idea.”<br/>
“No shit.” Canada says while standing up. I’ve never seen him angry before so I remain seated, reeling at the sight. “Where is he?”<br/>
“Still in the car. . . Look, I can see that you two are rather busy. If this isn’t a place for a child right now I can always m-”<br/>
“Shut the fuck up.” Canada says before walking back toward the house. America looks down at me.<br/>
“It’s a rare sight that only I seem to be able to unlock. Don’t worry, he wouldn’t snap on you like that.” He says while offering me a hand. I take it and sigh.<br/>
“I’ve never seen him angry before, it’s very strange.”<br/>
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. He’s so sweet and quiet until I start talking,” He laughs, “we used to fight a lot as kids.”<br/>
“I thought your relationship was better?” I venture asking, remembering how Canada mentioned that their relationship never used to be so good.<br/>
“Oh it is. I mean, I did just cockblock him so. . . Plus if I did this when we were younger my arm would definitely be broken.” He laughs before making his way down the trail.<br/>
Once back to the house I see a child, about Latvia’s age, jump out of the car in the small driveway and run straight to Canada.<br/>
“Matthew!! I missed you so much!” The kid says in a strong British accent, hugging Canada tightly.<br/>
“Hello Peter, it’s nice to see you too.”<br/>
“This has been the best week ever! I got to spend most of it with Alfred and now I’m here with you. I couldn’t have asked for any better!”<br/>
“Me neither little one. Now let's get inside before this storm starts to pick up.”<br/>
As Sealand gets comfortable in the living room, Canada pulls America into the kitchen. I decide to lean on the wall that separates the two rooms, facing the living room. I can hear their hushed voices.<br/>
“What exactly happened?” Canada asks.<br/>
“What happened to me. . . Sort of. . . He’s a very free spirit and Arthur, as per usual, must control every little detail about everything.”<br/>
“So, Peter is rebelling?”<br/>
“Classic you to label him a rebel.” America comments a bit defensively.<br/>
“America, this isn’t as serious as it was in the 1760s, Peter is simply a teenage boy rebelling against his parental figure. This is completely natural and has no political, social, or economic ramifications for either of them.”<br/>
“I know that, Canada. . . But, I’m concerned because. . . Well, I guess sometimes while they are fighting England will slip and call him Alfred which would be hilarious if it didn’t have certain implications.”<br/>
“What are you talking about?”<br/>
“Do I really have to spell it out for you?”<br/>
“Yes! Because quite frankly you are the most annoying person I know, and if someone was being equally annoying I would also have trouble not calling them by your name.”<br/>
“. . . One, ouch. Two, let me set the scene for you so you can understand why I’m worried. One day England gets a bit drunk, or loses his inhibitions in some way, alright?”<br/>
“Okay.” Canada says slowly.<br/>
“Then let’s say Sealand and him get into a little tiff for some reason or another and the lines between Peter and my 1760s self start to blur a little too much. Unresolved anger and passion coupled with unrequited love may lead him to physically take it out on Sealand in a way he should not. He might even. . . Sexually take it out on him.”<br/>
A long silence transpires between the two of them for a while before Canada speaks up again.<br/>
“Oh. . . Has he ever laid a hand on Peter?”<br/>
“Twice. The last time caused Peter to run away to France because he heard I was staying there.”<br/>
“I see. . .”<br/>
“So now do you understand why I brought him here? I know that Prussia is here, but he’s good with children right? He always has been.”<br/>
“Yes, I understand now, but this can not be permanent. We have to go back to Europe soon, so this is what I propose; I’ll talk to him and gauge how he has reacted to everything that has happened. After that, you take him to Norway.”<br/>
“Norway?” America asks, confused.<br/>
“Yes, Norway. Just do it.”<br/>
“Okay, okay. . . Do you think he will believe we don’t want him?”<br/>
“I’ll talk about that with him as well. You can not properly take care of a child and neither can I, not long term at least.”<br/>
“Hey, Prussia, right?”<br/>
I look down and see Sealand standing before me.<br/>
“Yes. And you’re Sealand?”<br/>
“Sure am! Your accent is funny, doesn't sound very German to me.”<br/>
“Well it's not German." I unfortunately have to admit.<br/>
“What is it?”<br/>
“Russian. . . Hey, Canada has some board games over there, want to try one?” I ask, desperately wanting to change the subject.<br/>
“That sounds awesome!” He exclaims, running over to the TV stand. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 1st, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The rain bangs heavily against the small house as the wind batters the windows. The TV is playing some cartoon that is very different from the other one I watched. The art is a lot simpler and the colors are funny. Coloring people as yellow, it’s quite comical.<br/>
“What time is it?” Canada asks softly.<br/>
“Midnight thirty.” America answers.<br/>
“Poor guy, he’s knocked out. You should probably take him to bed, I already prepared the guest room for you both.” Canada suggests.<br/>
“Alright. . . where is Prussia going to sleep?”<br/>
“Don’t worry about that.”<br/>
“Mhm.” America hums while standing up from the couch to pick up Sealand. Canada rolls his eyes as they go down the hall to the bedrooms. I can’t help but laugh.<br/>
“He is very invested in what may be between us, isn’t he?” I ask.<br/>
“Yeah, he thinks most of my problems would be solved if I hooked up with someone. . . He just doesn’t understand how I could like being alone all the time.”<br/>
“There is nothing wrong with being alone, as long as you’re not lonely.”<br/>
He looks at me, smiling a bit.<br/>
“Sometimes I get very lonely, usually late at night. But it never bothered me enough to change my situation.”<br/>
“Ah.” I answer simply. I’m not sure what I was expecting, for him to tell me he couldn’t stand living out here? Of course he enjoys it, or he wouldn’t be doing it.<br/>
“But, recently. . . I’ve been very aware of how lonely my nights can be and how much I really want to. . .” He trails off and casts his eyes down.<br/>
“To?”<br/>
“I know I’m not making this easy, but it’s so hard to keep pretending that you have no effect on me. I think it’s pretty obvious that the feelings we had for one another after the war are still here. Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to explore that but you’re going back to Europe in a few days and I’ll be staying here once all this is over and. . .There is no way we could be together in a meaningful way and if I let myself get attached to you I will literally go insane here without you. . . . And I’ve said too much, haven’t I?”<br/>
I answer him by slowly closing the distance between our lips. His hand softly cups my cheek and we slowly sink down onto the floor. He begins to trail kisses down my jaw and neck, stopping at the top of my collar bone to bite and suck. In the heat of the moment I lace my hand into his hair and he falters.<br/>
“Mmm.” He moans out.<br/>
“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.” I say breathlessly.<br/>
“It’s okay. It just throws me for a loop, is all.”<br/>
“If it’s okay with you, could we move this somewhere a little more-”<br/>
“Private?” He finishes for me, “of course.”<br/>
He helps me up and I follow him into his bedroom. He closes the door behind us and turns back around to look at me. His pale lavender eyes are darker now, filled with an intensity that causes me to break out in goosebumps.<br/>
“I don’t think I can resist this any longer.” He says softly.<br/>
“Then don’t.”<br/>
He quickly closes the distance between us and we end up on the bed, kissing and feeling and relishing in the warmth. My fingers hook under the bottom of his shirt in a bid to pull it off of him. He lets me and I rake my eyes over his naked torso, taking in his lean chest and stomach. A large burn scar over the right side of his chest catches my attention as do the slightly raised scars across his abdomen. I lightly trace around the damaged skin on his chest with my fingers before running them over his stomach. I’ve seen him shirtless before, many decades ago, so I knew that he had these yet they surprise me nonetheless. My mind reels as it did in the late forties to find a reason for these scars, I’ve always thought North America had it easy when it came to being brutalized by others. I suppose I was and still am mistaken.<br/>
“What are you thinking about?” He asks.<br/>
“How much this must have hurt.” I say softly while trailing my hand down the scars again.<br/>
“Not as much as it looks, but it’s in the past.” His voice is airy as I reach his belt and begin unbuckling it. He helps me take off his pants before beginning to unbutton my shirt. This, of course, is not the first time he’s seeing me shirtless either, but I’m nervous nonetheless. My collar bone, ribcage, and hip bones are visible and it’s a little unnerving, not to mention the scars and my green and blue veins that pop out against my pale skin. But he doesn’t seem fazed by my appearance as he begins taking off my pants.<br/>
“Oh, sorry.” He says with a smile, running his thumb across my collar bone.<br/>
“Hm?”<br/>
“I left a mark earlier.”<br/>
Before I can answer a large clap of thunder practically shakes the house and the power goes out. My eyes adjust quickly to the absence of the lamp light and I sit back in his lap.<br/>
“Well now I can’t see.” He comments with laughter in his voice.<br/>
“How unfortunate.” I tease while bending down and placing my lips against his neck. I can feel his pulse accelerate as I try to mark him how he did me. His hands find my hips and like last time he seems rather undone by this simple act alone.<br/>
“Gilbert?” He asks breathlessly.<br/>
“Hm?” I answer against this neck.<br/>
“We should be cautious. If I know my brother he’ll be spooked by the power outage and come looking for me.”<br/>
“Well,” I begin, moving down his body, “I guess you should be quiet.”<br/>
“That shouldn’t be a prob- ah, oh shit!” He calls out as I take him into my mouth with no warning. I lean back up and give him an incredulous look.<br/>
“What happened to quiet?” I whisper, trying to keep a smirk off my face. Before he can answer a knock sounds on the door.<br/>
“Canada? Please tell me you have a back-up generator.” America’s muffled voice comes through the door. Canada just groans and covers his face with his arm. I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh.<br/>
“I do but since it hasn’t kicked on something must be wrong with it. . . It’s almost two in the morning Alfred, go back to sleep.”<br/>
“I can’t, not when we are all about to be attacked by some unknown assailant lurking about in the woods.”<br/>
“Alfred!”<br/>
“. . . Fine, okay, I’ll try to go back to sleep.”<br/>
I wait until I can hear his footsteps walk down the hall before resuming what I paused earlier. Canada puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a groan and I resist another smirk. His right hand laces into my hair and I take him in all the way. I’m disturbed as I note this is easier with him than with Russia due to the size difference, but I’m quickly pulled away from thinking about Russia as he moans out, “oh fuck, I’m close,” in French. I’m not surprised that he doesn’t last long. He tries warning me again but I pay no mind to it.<br/>
The almost feminine moan that leaves him as he orgasms makes me swoon, those little gasps that match the shuddering of his body is an incredible sight to behold. At this point I’m aching to be touched.<br/>
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that so soon. . . I wasn’t expecting you to do that to me, and I have an embarrassing stamina as it is.” He manages.<br/>
“Don’t apologize, there is nothing wrong with that. It just flatters me.”<br/>
He smiles and flips our positions, attacking my throat with a fervor that makes me melt into pudding. His hand is warm but I break out in goosebumps in its wake despite this as it trails down my chest and stomach then back up again. He’ll lightly trace his fingers at the band of my underwear, sometimes just barely going underneath to tease the skin there. I try rolling my hips to get any sort of friction, but he’s careful not to give it to me.<br/>
“Matthew.” My voice is airy as I plead. He doesn’t relent, but rather runs his hand up my arm to my left hand, pressing into my palm and making me see stars. I can hardly keep my eyes open, the pleasure is absolutely mind-blowing. But the aching in between my legs is not satiated. I continue to become more and more desperate, the end nowhere in sight.<br/>
“Do you want me to beg?” I ask, shuddering in his embrace.<br/>
“It wouldn’t hurt.” I swear I can feel him smirking against my neck.<br/>
“Matthew, please, I can't stand this."<br/>
He bites me and presses into my palm at the same time sending a wave of pleasure through me strong enough to bring me just before the edge. I whimper and grip his hip with my free hand.<br/>
“Uhh, you’re going to kill me, please.”<br/>
That torturous hand of his slowly runs down my body dipping under the band of my underwear and gripping me tightly. A few firm pumps from his hand and I finally get the release I so desperately wanted. The feeling is so strong that it flows out from my groin and into my waist and thighs, then through my arms and legs and back to my groin again.<br/>
After the intense waves of pleasure stop crashing in my body I finally breathe and look at Canada who is trying in vain to not smirk at me.<br/>
“Using my hand against me like that,” I smile and shake my head, “not fair.”<br/>
“All’s fair in love and war.” I lift an eyebrow.<br/>
“All’s fair you say?”<br/>
“Yeah.” He says, much too confident for his own good. I reach up and lace my fingers in his hair, pulling him down to kiss me. He moans into the kiss and I switch our positions, hand never leaving his hair. As we pull apart, nothing could have prepared me for the look on his face. He almost has a worried expression, eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip in between his teeth. I give his hair a light pull just to see his reaction and his eyelids flutter, eyes crossing slightly, as he grabs my wrist.<br/>
“I’ll literally do anything you want.” He whispers in French.<br/>
“That intense, huh?” I say while pulling his hair a bit firmer. He arches his back and whimpers, body shuddering then falling limp. After a few moments of me thinking he passed out, I shake him lightly.<br/>
“Matthew?”<br/>
“What?” He says in a high and airy voice.<br/>
“You okay?” He just nods his head. “Is this why no one’s allowed to touch your hair?” He nods again. “I’m sorry.” I say while cuddling up to his side.<br/>
“All’s fair in love and war.” He says and I smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 2nd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I can’t remember the last time I woke up in arms that felt like a shield wrapped around me, protecting me from the outside world. Nothing can get to me, no one can hurt me. This young, strong, North American nation makes me feel like I’m the most important thing in the world. I snuggle in closer to him and he holds me tighter.<br/>
Maybe I’m not dead and in hell. . . Maybe this is heaven.<br/>
“Matthew it’s snowing outside!” Sealand’s voice comes from the other side of the door. I feel Canada sigh behind me before letting me go and standing up from the bed.<br/>
“I know sweetheart. After breakfast we can go out in it.” He answers.<br/>
“Awesome!” The boy exclaims before running off down the hall.<br/>
Canada looks back at me with a smile on his face and I raise an eyebrow.<br/>
“What?” He asks.<br/>
“You’re smiling. . . Like a lot.” I tease.<br/>
“Sorry,” he begins, covering his mouth, “this is your fault.”<br/>
We get dressed and ready for the day, but leave the room at separate times to defuse what America might say. By the time I came out to the living room, Sealand was playing outside in the snow and Canada was out with him. America looks up at me from one of the armchairs.<br/>
“Hm, long night I see.” He says, barely containing a smile.<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“You have-” He gestures to his neck.<br/>
“Oh, uh, I bruise easy.” I say a bit awkwardly, zipping up my jacket in an attempt to cover the love bites. I take a seat across from him and look out the window.<br/>
“Sealand sure is a cheerful kid.” I comment, thinking about how Latvia should be like that.<br/>
“Yeah, he’s always been a little ball of energy. I’m glad Matthew is talking with him, he likes Canada the most and missed him greatly.”<br/>
“Is that why you brought him here?” I ask, relaxing back into the couch.<br/>
“Partly. . . Are you going to stay in Europe after all of this?”<br/>
“Well. . . Yeah, I mean Germany is my home and I can’t imagine Ludwig is doing well right now. I miss him greatly as it is.”<br/>
“True, he is very lonely. . .” Before America can continue, Sealand and Canada walk back in.<br/>
“Are you all packed up?” He asks Sealand.<br/>
“Yup!”<br/>
“Alright. Well it was really good seeing you again so soon Matthew. I wish we spent more time together.”<br/>
“Hm.” Canada hums a response as they embrace.<br/>
Before long, Sealand and America are long gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Rare Kindness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Prussia begins to heal and come back to himself, he starts recalling a few pleasant things from his time in Russia. Russia isn't just some evil monster. He's just as human as the rest of them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tuesday, December 3rd, 1991: 22 days left until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the most scared I’d been in years. I was frozen still, feet planted firmly on the snowy ground as fright flowed through my veins. I’m helpless. There is nothing I can do but look at those frightened blue eyes as they plead for me to help. Nothing I can do. <br/>His breath trembles, his eyes are wide. <br/>“Oh god, oh god there is a current.” Lithuania comments softly, horror shaking his voice. I wish I could comfort him, tell him that everything will be alright. But that simply is not true. <br/>The cold night air stings my face as I turn to look back at Latvia, who stands upon the frozen lake, cracks underneath him. <br/>“If he falls in he’ll drown.” Lithuania whispers, feeling just as helpless as I do. I can’t stand to see him like this. . . to think about Latvia dying. I take a step forward but Lithuania grabs my arm, stopping me. <br/>“If you walk out there you will break the ice and you will both fall in.” He warns. I look to my left at Russia. His normally indifferent eyes are filled with worry as he looks at the panicking Latvia. <br/>“Raivis. . . Raivis, look at me.” Russia says. Latvia slowly looks up at him, lips trembling. “Everything is going to be alright, okay? Just do as I say.” <br/>Latvia nods and whimpers quietly.<br/>“Hand me that over there.” Russia asks me. I look around and see a branch on the ground. I pick it up and hand it to him, struggling a bit with the weight of it. Russia takes it from me with ease and looks back at Latvia. <br/>“Alright, I’m going to hold this out to you, and when you can reach it take it and hold on as tightly as you can.” He says to Latvia. The poor boy nods quickly as Russia holds the branch out. It is a bit too short. <br/>“I c-can’t reach.” Latvia manages. <br/>“It’s okay. Slowly move forward and take it.” Russia calmly assures him. He nods and begins to take slow, delicate steps. His right foot comes down on the ice again and it cracks even more. He whimpers and reaches for the branch again, this time grabbing it firmly. The ice cracks loudly and shifts, almost making him lose his balance. Russia pulls the branch, successfully pulling Latvia to safety but casting himself onto the cracked ice instead. Latvia runs up to Lithuania and hugs him tightly, crying into his chest. <br/>I look out at Russia and make eye contact with him. For the first time since the war those pale lavender eyes hold so much fear, and a pit forms in my stomach. The ice cracks again and I take another step forward only to be stopped by Lithuania once more. The ice cracks a final time, Russia gasps before falling down into the icy waters below. <br/>“Ivan!” I hear myself call out. <br/>“It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Latvia cries. <br/>“Shh, Shh, it’s okay, it’s not your fault. Nothing could have been done. It’s okay.” Lithuania comforts Latvia. <br/>“What happened? Where is Russia?” Ukraine asks while running up to us. Estonia and Belarus are by her side, running up to us as well. <br/>“He fell in saving Latvia.” I say softly. Ukraine covers her mouth and Estonia looks down. <br/>“No!! He could still be alive! We have to save him!” Belarus cries out while running onto the lake. I run after her and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her off the ice and walking her back toward land.  <br/>“No! No! Let go of me! He could still be there! Please!” She pleads with me. <br/>“It’s been too long Nataliya. He’s gone.” Lithuania says sadly. <br/>“Where do you think his body will end up?” Ukraine asks me. I put Belarus down and she embraces me tightly, crying into my chest. <br/>“Well. . . The lake flows west toward the river when everything is thawed.” I say while trying to comfort Belarus. <br/>“Okay. Lithuania, take Belarus and Latvia back inside. Estonia, come with me and Germany.” Ukraine says sternly. Lithuania nods and picks up Latvia. <br/>“How far west?” Ukraine asks as they walk away. <br/>“I’m not sure. If we are lucky, not very far.” I answer.<br/>We begin going west as fast as we can, scanning the ice for any sort of opening, any sort of sign. My heart beats faster the longer we can’t find him. <br/>“There! An opening in the ice!” Estonia points out. We begin to run toward the break and sure enough, Russia is laying on the shore, half in the water. I get to him first and pull him completely out of the water. <br/>“How long?” Ukraine asks. <br/>“Maybe ten minutes. I can try but it’ll be unlikely.” I say placing my hands on his chest and giving compressions. The only thing coming from him is a clicking sound every time I push down. I lean down and place my mouth on his, giving him a few breaths before starting compressions again. <br/>“Almost fifteen minutes with no oxygen. . . Is it even worth bringing him back now?” Estonia asks. <br/>“I’m going to give him a chance.” I say before leaning back down and giving him more breaths. I can feel warm tears welling in my eyes and falling down my cheeks as I start compressions again. <br/>“Gilbert. . . Maybe. . .” Ukraine starts.<br/>Russia twitches underneath me as water starts coming from his mouth. I help him turn on his side so he can cough/throw the water up. He takes a few deep breaths and lays on his back again, looking up at me. <br/>“Oh God, I fucking hate drowning.” He says. I give him a tight hug and he wraps his arms around me. <br/>“I’m so glad you’re alive.” I say into his chest. <br/>“He won’t be for much longer if we don’t warm him up.” Estonia says. <br/>“Oh, yes, Edward is right. We should get back to the house.” I say. <br/>I jolt awake, sitting up in the bed. Canada sits up with me, giving me a worried look. <br/>“Are you alright?” He asks. <br/>“. . . Yeah. . .I just had a memory.” <br/>“Do you want to talk about it?” <br/>I lay back down and look up at Canada.<br/>“It wasn’t all bad. . . I mean, it was probably the worst sixty years of my entire life, but there were moments that weren’t horrible. Some were good, even.” I admit. Canada curls back up next to me and I continue. “Russia can be kind, selfless, gentle, if he wants to be. He hurt us just as much as he cared for us. He’d lock Lithuania in an empty room for days at a time to punish him for the most basic of things, but he also taught him English when he wanted to learn it and got him illegal books. He used Latvia in disgusting ways, but would also give his life for him. . . He’d torture me but then turn around and patch me up, apologize. . .” <br/>We sit in silence for a while, my arms wrapped around him. <br/>“Are you nervous to go back to Europe?” He asks. <br/>“A little. . . I’m nervous to see him again.” <br/>“You probably won’t, not with America hanging about.” He assures. I laugh a bit. <br/>“Oh, you mean the guy who is scared of the dark? Yeah, I feel so safe.” I tease. <br/>“He’s an anxious person.” Canada laughs, “I swear he can be brave when he wants to be. . . And I want to say before we get off the subject - just because Russia was nice to you sometimes does not negate the horrible things he did. What you went through was traumatic, no amount of his rare kindness or clarity changes that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 4th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I live for days like this, when the evening is just cool enough for a light jacket and when twilight comes after seven. Ukraine persuaded all of us to eat dinner outside, stating that it’s good to change things up a little and that the weather was perfect. I couldn’t disagree. <br/>“It was so embarrassing, I still can’t believe that happened.” Poland says, laughing with the rest of us at his story. <br/>“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Lithuania tries. <br/>“You should have been there Toris, it was horrible! I couldn’t look at him for like years after that!” Poland laughs then looks at Russia. “Alright, you’re up.” <br/>“Hmm,” Russia begins, “an embarrassing story, I have so many, but there is one in particular that I still cringe at. It happened hundreds of years ago, when I was just starting out as a kingdom and I wanted to make a name for myself. Well, it was like the 900s, so what better way to make a name for yourself than sacking the city of Constantinople?” A few of us chuckle at this, myself included. “I got all of my ships ready with all of my best men and I sailed out to the city. It wasn’t easy, perse, but I was able to not only make them retreat but also gain an audience with the emperor and the Byzantine Empire. I was, uh, pretty struck by their presence and I could hardly speak straight when I was introducing myself and making demands. Regardless of my poor composure they agreed to everything I asked for so, feeling a bit confident, I asked them to make me silk sails.” <br/>“Oh no.” Lithuania says as the rest of us laugh. <br/>“I know, but I was a child and had no sense of how anything worked in the world apparently. Obviously when we set sail for home all of the sails ripped and we had to carefully navigate ourselves back to the port and solemnly ask for normal sails. Theodorus laughed so hard at me. Not to mention a storm blew in and trapped me in the city for a week.” <br/>“Yeah that one’s pretty bad.” Poland comments.<br/>“Alright little one it is time for bed.” Ukraine says to Latvia. <br/>“But it’s only just getting dark out!” He whines. <br/>“Raivis.” Ukraine says with a hand on her hip. <br/>“Okay.” He says while standing. <br/>“I’m going to start those letters.” Lithuania says while standing. Soon enough Russia and I are the only ones left outside, watching the sun as it begins to hide itself under the horizon. <br/>He is laying down next to me and I turn to look at him. <br/>“Did you really dress your ships in silk?” I ask. He laughs and nods.<br/>“I really did. But it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I got to spend more time with Theodorus which gave him time to convert me and make me fall in love.” <br/>I laugh at the wistful expression on his face. <br/>“Aww, you got it so bad.” I tease, poking the faint blush on his cheek. <br/>“Oh hush,” He says, playfully smacking my hand away, “You weren’t any better when it came to the Holy Roman Empire.” <br/>“You got me there.” I say while sitting up. <br/>“I remember those big googly eyes you used to give him, my my you’d do anything for him, even if it meant fighting me and falling into a frozen lake.” <br/>“Don’t remind me.” I say while cringing. His laughter makes me smile and I sigh a bit sadly. <br/>“What?” He asks, noticing my mood change. <br/>“I fell in trying to save him and he didn’t even try to help me. . . Just ran off. . . You were the one to jump in and grab me before I could drown and we were opposing forces.” <br/>He sits up and puts a hand on my thigh. <br/>“It’s because I’m better than him.” I smile then laugh at his response. “You laugh but it’s true. Anytime you were seriously in trouble, who would come for you?” <br/>“I’m laughing because it is kind of true.” <br/>“Kind of?” <br/>“Fine,” I sigh out, “It is true. You are better. Or, have been better to me on average.” <br/>“Mhm.” He lays back down in the grass and I smile at him. <br/>As I open my eyes I feel a small smile come onto my face. I had forgotten about that memory. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 5th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I feel like someone is shaking me as I open my eyes, until I realize I’m the one shivering. My vision is blurry and I feel weak, cold. The arms wrapped around me provide no heat, no signs of life. I’m so disturbed by the thought that I push myself from the cold, dead grip and sit up. Russia’s lavender eyes look up at me. <br/>“Sorry.” He says softly. <br/>“Why are you so cold?” I manage, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. <br/>“. . . I’m sorry, you were panicking and I was trying to comfort you.” <br/>“What happened? I don’t remember how I got here.” I say in a shaky voice, looking around his bedroom. <br/>“You don’t remember walking in here?” <br/>“. . .No.” I answer, trying to recall something to no avail. <br/>“Gilbert, you’re getting worse. You need help, help that I cannot give you.” <br/>“I’m not leaving.” <br/>“You have to, it hurts me to see you so sick. It’s time you go back to Germany.” <br/>“. . . You know how long it’s been since I’ve even spoken German? I-I can’t go back, that’s not who I am anymore I-” His icy hand softly caressing my cheek makes me fall quiet. <br/>“You’ll be alright. I know they will be happy to see you and welcome you back with open arms.” <br/>“What about you? I’ve been noticing your weight loss.” <br/>“It’s just a few kilograms, I’m fine. You are the one who is sick. You can hardly keep track of what’s going on, you forget things that had just happened, you freeze up. I’m scared for you.” I place my hand over the one he has on my cheek and close my eyes. <br/>“I don’t know what’s happening to me. . .” <br/>At that moment it didn’t matter how cold I was, I embraced him tightly, slowly feeling the world around me pull away. <br/>“I don’t want to go.” I mumble out. <br/>“Go where?” Canada asks. <br/>“Hm?” I say while sitting up from the couch in the living room. I must have dozed off. <br/>“You were kind of talking over there, I thought you said something about not wanting to go somewhere.” <br/>“Oh. . . Where are you?” <br/>“In the kitchen.” <br/>Sure enough as I get up and walk into the kitchen he is standing in front of the counter cutting up tomatoes. <br/>“Can I ask you something?” I ask after watching him grab another tomato and begin cutting through it. <br/>“Of course.” <br/>“What was it like for you? When you were forced to leave France.” <br/>His hand stills ever so slightly before he resumes cutting up the vegetables. <br/>“Um, it was interesting. Why do you ask?” <br/>“I guess I wanted to know how you felt when you were plunged into something entirely new.” <br/>He moves the chopped tomatoes into a small bowl before placing a zucchini on the cutting board. <br/>“I see. Well I suppose I can humor you. . . It was very jarring for me. I didn’t know a lick of English nor had I ever left France before. The ride to England was awful, I was incredibly exhausted, yet he insisted that I be bathed and changed immediately. He forced me to undress myself, cut almost all my hair off, and dressed me in a fashion I was not used to.” His voice begins to shake and he pauses, finishing up the zucchini before placing a few cloves of garlic on the cutting board. He remains silent for some time before resuming his recollection. “He forbade the use of French, or any other language, I was only allowed to speak English. Needless to say I learned it quick during the two month journey across the Atlantic. It was the first time I had ever been to the Americas, even though I represented some of it. I was the fourth son born to a French noble family before becoming what I am today, so. . . Anyway that’s when I met America. We got along very well at first, and for a moment I thought I could have some semblance of happiness in Virginia but then. . . Something changed in Alfred, and the rest is history. You were there.” He says while looking up at me. I was there, for the revolution part. I remember France and America talking about freeing Canada from England as well, but after a few unsuccessful tries and America’s General advising against going further we stopped. <br/>“I remember. . . I was also there when France lost you to England, during the signing of the treaty.” <br/>He smiles lightly and turns on the oven. <br/>“You were, weren’t you. So was the Holy Roman Empire. He came to me after I learned I was to be sent away to make sure I was okay. He was a lot nicer to me than Austria was.” <br/>“Everyone is nicer than Austria.” <br/>We both laugh and that sparkle in his eyes make my chest swell with joy. I have to bite my cheek so I don't smile too much. But not for long. The place I’m headed with this topic is dark. <br/>“I asked you how you felt because I remember how destroyed you were when you found out that you had to leave Versailles. I felt a similar way when Russia told me I had to go back to Germany.” <br/>He sets the knife down before giving me a confused look.<br/>“What do you mean? He told you to go back to Germany?” <br/>“More like forced me to. . . I’m starting to remember what happened just before I got back and. . . I didn’t want to leave Russia.” <br/>“Why not?” <br/>“I was content, I guess. . . And a little nervous about what everyone would think if they knew I was still alive. I was happy with living simply in Novgorod.” <br/>“Do you want to go back to Russia?” He asks. <br/>“. . . No. Being away from that place has made me realize how much I enjoyed being my own person and seeing the ones that I care about. It filled me with joy to see Germany again, and Italy, and you.” <br/>I notice the small blush form on his cheeks as he looks down at the vegetables. <br/>“For what it’s worth,” he begins slowly, “I was quite ecstatic to see you again as well.” <br/>We talk about random little things as we eat and clean up after dinner. Eventually I retire to the guest room with what Canada said to me swirling around in my mind and the fact that we are leaving for Europe tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure I want to leave this place either, but I know it’s for the best. I must be able to live and be on my own. I must be able to be independent.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While traveling back to Munich Prussia has a flashback, experiencing an odd night in 1945. As he wakes up from the sour ending memory, he feels a bit somber. Canada has to leave for France and Germany. . . Well, something's up with him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Friday, December 6th, 1991: 19 Days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I suppose I’m one for wandering. Especially if all I have to look at are prison walls all day and all night, then yes. I’m a wandering connoisseur. And I know that it gets me in trouble sometimes, especially if I run into someone I’m not supposed to like America or England or God forbid the Soviet Union. But I can’t help it. Especially when they make escaping so easy! <br/>I walk around the halls of the complex, looking at the different doors and limited access areas. The exit signs that glow red, the bulletin board with English words all over it, and room B216. I kneel down next to the door and slip a note underneath. A few moments later the note is returned. I open it up and read it. <br/>I’m doing okay, perhaps a little jealous of your nightly escapades. I could never be so nimble. I just wish they’d let me out of here, these walls get closer every day. Anywho, please don’t get caught like last time, your ankle looked absolutely terrible. Love, Roderich.<br/>I stifle a laugh at the ‘love, Roderich’. He must be going insane in there if that is how he is signing his letters. I move on with my nightly routine, trying to read the English on the boards, sighing at the food schedule, hiding behind a corner as a few American men make their way through the hallway. That’s when I stop before room F415. I kneel down and slide a note underneath. It takes some time for it to return but it does. This is what makes my nights. <br/>I am doing fine now that you’ve arrived. I wish I could see you. I don’t mind being in this room, it's the being alone that bothers me. America comes in here almost everyday, he talks so damn much. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m suspicious. Russia isn’t allowed to come in here alone so you don’t have to worry about that. Honestly, I worry more about what he does to you. I saw how bad your ankle got. Is that feeling any better? I know you told me to be nice to everyone but sometimes I can’t help it. Normally they send Canada in here to give me food and check up on my health but they stopped sending him after I overpowered him. He looked like an easy target. I apologize, I know I’m making things worse for myself, but I just hated the way he spoke to me. Please be safe out there. - Germany <br/>I sigh softly and shake my head. Must that boy always be so violent? Either way, I’m glad he’s doing as well as he can be in this situation. I put my hand on the door for a moment before turning and walking away. As I head back to my room, I notice Canada standing near one of the doors, writing something down on a clipboard. A devious plan formulates in my mind as I slowly approach him. He’s so engrossed in whatever he’s doing he fails to notice me, allowing for me to push him against the wall and cover his mouth. He gasps into my hand and drops the clipboard, eyes wide with fear. <br/>“You should really be careful,” I begin in a hushed voice, “your enemy shouldn’t be able to sneak up on you like that.” I’m close enough to feel his heart pounding away in his chest. Maybe I scared him a little too good. Poor boy. “Promise you won’t scream?” He nods and I uncover his mouth. <br/>“How do you keep getting out?” His little voice is so soft and cute I can’t help but smile every time I hear it. <br/>“Oh? You are not happy to see me?” <br/>“I-I, no, you should not be wandering about the building. . . Can you please let go of me?” <br/>I slowly release my grip on him and he sighs in relief, picking up the clipboard. My heart flutters as his eyes return to mine and I scold myself for catching feelings for this boy. This is not the time. Nor the place, evidently. I’m too busy admiring his adorable face I don’t catch the words coming from him. How does he get his hair to look so soft? Falling just past his shoulders in loose dark blonde curls. Adorable pink lips that I know for a fact are warm and plush. <br/>“Prussia?” I blink a few times. <br/>“Hm?” <br/>“Did you hear anything I just said?” <br/>“. . .No.” I admit. He sighs. <br/>“Do I have to walk you back to your holding room?” <br/>“You could, if you want to make sure I don’t go anywhere else.” I say with a teasing smile.<br/>“Alright, let us go then.” <br/>Our walk back to room B105 is silent. Normally I’m great with words but unusually I’m not sure of what to say. He opens the door and turns to look at me. <br/>“How is your ankle?” He asks. <br/>“A lot better, thanks to you.” <br/>“Glad to hear it. . .” A heavy silence passes between us as I’m torn between kissing him or not and he waits to see what I’ll do. “Well, you should go in before someone else sees you out.” He finally says. <br/>“Very well.” I walk into the bleak room and sit on the creaky cot in the corner. <br/>“You should really stop sneaking out of here. It is only luck that has you run into me and not America or the Soviet Union. They roam around the facility as much as I do.” <br/>“Maybe the risk is worth seeing you.” I say with a small smile. A blush begins to redden his youthful face as he looks down. <br/>“Flattered as I am, I do not wish for you to get needlessly hurt.” Before I can reply, heavy footsteps make themselves known down the hall and I see Canada look to his left. <br/>“What are you doing up so late?” I hear Russia’s voice before I see him. <br/>“Checking on the rooms, making sure everyone has what they need.” He answers in a meek voice that makes me want to hold and comfort him. <br/>“That is not necessary.” Russia’s gaze falls to me, voice stern almost as if he is scolding Canada. I feel inclined to help. <br/>“He just escorted me to the restroom is all.” <br/>“I was not speaking to you,” he turns back to Canada, “don’t let him out of here again. He should be able to wait until morning like everyone else.” <br/>“Yes, sir.” <br/>Russia closes the door but they do not walk away from it. I can see their shadows underneath the gap. Cautiously I walk over and hear their conversation. <br/>“. . .too nice for your own good. Before you enter any of their rooms, especially this one, I want either myself or America with you. If we can not at the moment they will have to wait. Your safety and well being is much more important to me than theirs.”<br/>“Of course, I apologize.” <br/>“It’s alright. You should get some rest.” <br/>I hear only one pair of footsteps fade away down the hall before the sound of the doorknob turning makes me jump. A smile marks my face as the door opens but falls immediately when Russia walks in. <br/>“Not expecting me?” He asks darkly, pushing me back and causing me to fall back onto the cot. “I don’t know how you do it, but I will personally break every single bone in your body to keep you in this room.” I never used to be very fearful of Russia before. Honestly, we used to be very good friends before the two world wars, but after Berlin I can’t help but be fearful.  <br/>“Perhaps investing in a better lock would do you well.” I suggest. <br/>“Do you always have a smart ass reply to everything?” He grabs my left wrist and pins it down on the cot, “I’d like you to find something smart to say after this.” He straddles me and my body freezes in fear as the fight for Berlin plays across my vision. I hear clicking sounds from above me but I do not register what is happening until he lightly slaps my cheek a few times.<br/>“No, no, no, you don’t get to drift away from this. I want you to be completely and fully aware of everything I’m about to do to you.” <br/>“What more could you do to me?” <br/>“Wanna find out?” He says while taking my right wrist and breaking it like an insignificant twig from a tree. I bite my cheek and groan as the pain sharply shoots down my arm and sears my wrist. “I have noticed that you don’t handle pain very well, perhaps this is how I will teach you to obey.” He brings my right arm down by my side and holds it in place by putting his knee on my wrist, making me yelp out in pain. He roughly feels up my forearm, feeling my bones and smiling lightly to himself as he comments about how small I am. I try to struggle but with his weight and my left wrist cuffed to the cot it’s no use. There is absolutely nothing I can do to get away as he wraps his hand around my forearm and pulls up sharply while pressing down on my wrist. I hear it break before I feel it, but when I do Russia covers my mouth as I scream. <br/>“Uhn, there it is.” He says softly, letting go of my arm. “There you go. . . that’s it, breathe through it,” he says while running his hand through my hair, “I’m going to do that again to your left arm.”  <br/>He reaches over and uncuffs my wrist, taking it into his hand and causing me to shake. <br/>“Please, don’t, I’m sorry, I’ll stay in this room, please.” I beg. <br/>“Hmm,” he bends my wrist and I panic, “but if I literally break you, you will be physically unable to escape. That sounds much more reliable to me.” <br/>“Ivan, please-” He hushes me by covering my mouth. <br/>“If you don’t want me to do that to your other arm, I suggest you stay put in this room. Next time, save yourself the trouble.” <br/>He cuffs my wrists to the cot and I groan in pain. Thankfully he doesn’t expect an answer from me and leaves the room. <br/>“Gilbert.” <br/>I open my eyes to Canada gently shaking me. <br/>“Hm? Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I say, looking through the car windows. <br/>“It’s okay, I remembered where it was.” <br/>“Good memory.” I comment while unbuckling myself. <br/>“Also it’s like one of the nicest neighborhoods in Munich.” <br/>“So it has become.” I sigh out as I watch him get out of the car. This second return to Munich almost feels just as unreal as the first. It’s almost exactly the same. Germany comes out and hugs me for a long period of time, helps me get settled into my old room, offers to make me food. I just sit on the side of the bed for a while, thinking about what I should do from here. What is there to do? <br/>“If you need any help just give me a call.” Canada says, breaking me away from my thoughts. <br/>“I will. . . How long are you going to stay in Europe?” I ask, patting the bed beside me. He sighs and sits down next to me. <br/>“I’m not sure. America is begging that I stay for Christmas but I really don’t like being around other nations. Especially when it’s Europe.” <br/>“Well, it would be kind of awesome if you did stay.” I tease, causing him to smile. <br/>“I’d stay until the New Year if you wanted me to.” He says in almost a whisper. I lean in a little closer to him and he does the same. <br/>“That’d be nice.” <br/>“Maybe it would be.” <br/>I kiss him and he places a soft hand on my cheek. I’m really going to miss him. <br/>The door opens and for a few seconds I couldn’t be bothered to stop and I guess neither could he. As I pull away he shyly looks down at his lap. <br/>“Well,” Germany begins slowly, “good to see that you are all settled. Canada, I’m sure Frances is sorely missing you.” <br/>“Uh, yes, it is getting a bit late,” Canada stands up and walks across the room, stopping at the foot of the stairs, “if you need any help with anything just give me a call.” He offers. <br/>“I’ll consider it.” Germany says coldly. Canada opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but ultimately leaves. The air is heavy with silence for a while as he places a plate of food on the nightstand. <br/>“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting down next to me on the bed. <br/>“Pretty good. Much better than when I first got here.” <br/>“You look amazing.” <br/>“Thanks. . . You seem upset.” <br/>“I’m not upset, why would I be upset? I’m very happy that you are back home.” He says while putting a hand on my knee. I look at the hand then back at him. <br/>“You’ve never been good at lying to me.” <br/>“Well, uh,” he stutters, “it’s nothing more than the break-up and you being gone. You look a lot better by the way.” <br/>“Thanks. . . How are you handling it.” <br/>“As well as you’d expect.” I give him a sympathetic look and place my hand on tops of his. “Much better now that you are back. I was worried about you staying in Canada.” <br/>“Why? Cause it’s cold?” I say with a hint of laughter. He smiles ever so slightly. <br/>“Partly. Also because I don’t know much about Canada really.” <br/>“He’s wonderful, there was nothing to worry about.” I say while laying back on the bed. <br/>“I guess. . .”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Lustful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Gilbert readjusts to life in Germany, without Canada, he comes to the realization that perhaps his feelings for the cold North American nation are much stronger than he anticipated. Alongside this, he finds himself conflicted about Russia.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday, December 7th, 1991 : 18 Days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s so beautiful.<br/>
The way he runs his hand through his hair, the way he bites his lip. I like that intense look he gives me over the brim of his glasses, how his gaze can flood my body with ease or spark it on fire with nerves. I like the way his strong arms hold me like I’m the most important thing in the world to him. I can picture the small curves of his firm chest, and the sharp definition of his stomach like he’s standing before me. The smoothness of his light skin comes to mind along with the large burn scar on the left side of his chest and the slightly raised scars that span across his stomach. I can hear his soft voice, like leaves bustling in the wind, telling me sweet nothings in French. I can see his soft lavender eyes and how they bubble with mirth so brilliantly, yet can churn with pensive sadness and despair. I can perfectly recall the feel of his warm skin, soft hair, plush lips. . .<br/>
This longing feeling, after only being apart hardly twenty-four hours, is why I vowed to myself never to care for someone like this again. Yet here I am.<br/>
It feels uncanny to wake up in a dark room. The room I had in both Canada and Russia allowed for the sun to shine in during the mornings. There is no way of telling what time it is in a room like this one. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.<br/>
Dreaming about Canada isn't going to make this any easier and-. . . My thoughts derail as my eyes find the portrait of the Holy Roman Empire I have hanging on the wall. I took (stole) it from Austria not long after his death. It is ironic really, as I sit here looking at the man who once caused me to feel like this. Feel the way Canada makes me feel. I never liked being so needy and desperate but he just pulled it from me, like I fear Canada may do.<br/>
Stepping into the bathroom I turn on the shower and lean against the counter as I wait for the water to warm up. My gaze falls to the mirror where I slowly take in how I look. Better, albeit thin. If I wanted to look how I did before the Wall I’d have to gain at least thirteen or maybe eighteen more kilograms (30 to 40 lbs), mostly in muscle. My fingers find the faint marks at the base of my neck that Canada gave me hardly even the day before. I’ll have to wear something that comes a bit high on my neck.<br/>
The water is warm as I step into the shower, knocking the chill out of my body. I allow my eyes to close and my mind to wander as I relax into the comforting stream.<br/>
The rain is strangely warm, if I didn’t know any better I’d think we were in a swamp or some sunny tropical place.<br/>
“Is it just me or is the rain warm?” I ask in an amused voice. Russia looks up for a few moments before returning his gaze to me.<br/>
“It is warm. . .”<br/>
“Do you think it has anything to do with the testing?” He smiles a bit before tapping my nose lightly with his index finger.<br/>
“No, silly, we are much too far away from all of that to see any negative impacts. Plus I set it off in the ocean. Don’t question this strange anomaly, enjoy it while God smiles upon us.”<br/>
I smile while glancing toward the empty vodka bottles on the porch. At the beginning of my confinement here a drunk Russia was always an angry one, but now he’s just content. Jolly, even, which is a strange but very welcome thing.<br/>
“Alright.” I say with a bit of laughter, resting my head back on his chest. For once he is actually warm, making the act of holding one another much more enjoyable than it tends to be. The warm rain falls softly around us, sometimes coming through the wood above us and falling onto us. Spring hangs sweetly in the air.<br/>
“America is displeased with me.”<br/>
“Ha,” I start, “when is he pleased with you?”<br/>
“Touche, but I am serious when I say he is displeased. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so angry.”<br/>
“What happened?” I ask, leaning up again so I can look into his eyes. A faint blush covers his cheeks but I know it’s from the alcohol. Cute nonetheless.<br/>
“He thinks I’m winning this little game between us. It has him twisted up in knots, making mistakes. . .” He looks off toward the trees before continuing, “I’d like to think I’m ‘winning’ as well but that simply is not true. There is a lot of aid I am sending out that would probably do much better here, but every nation that is inspired by this ideology looks to me for protection and resources. I feel for them. They want liberation, self-determination, equality, after being tormented and held underwater for so long. I get how that feels, having the majority of your population enslaved or oppressed brutally by this small upper class. I get it but. . . There is just something about America’s capitalism that is hard to beat.” My look is sympathetic as I place a comforting hand on his cheek. He looks back to me and smiles. “But for now I will bask in this feeling.”<br/>
“It does feel nice.”<br/>
As I open my eyes once more I’m greeted with the sight of the dull shower tiles lining the wall. A wave of nerves pass through my body as I think about the possibility of seeing Russia again. With a clearer mind and memories of better times restored to me I’m conflicted. Do I despise this man or like him? What would he expect from me?<br/>
My showers are never long, so I’m dressed, ready, and up on the ground floor in under thirty minutes. I see Germany looking over some papers on the coffee table in the living room and I decide to join him.<br/>
“Those look like talking points.” I comment while sitting next to him.<br/>
“They are. There are a few meetings in Berlin this week unfortunately.”<br/>
“Why unfortunately?”<br/>
“They want you to attend it but. . .”<br/>
“But?”<br/>
“The last one we went to was horrible on you. I don’t want to see you get like that again.”<br/>
“Don’t worry, I’m doing much better now, I can do this.”<br/>
Germany sighs out and nods.<br/>
“Well, if you are going there are some things you should know. Read this so you are not completely out of the loop.” He says while handing me a packet of paper. “I’m sorry it’s in English.”<br/>
“That’s alright, my English got a lot better under Russia.” I say while looking over the words.<br/>
A couple hours pass like this, him telling me what has been going on in Europe since 1947 and me reading over what will be discussed in tomorrow’s meeting and why.<br/>
Eventually he puts the papers aside and sighs.<br/>
“Is there. . . something going on between you and Canada?” He asks. I put the packet down and lean back into the couch.<br/>
“Yes, but, I’m not sure how long it will last. I’d hate to ask him to change his lifestyle just for me.”<br/>
“Hm, perhaps it’s best to let it end.”<br/>
“What makes you say that?” I ask, looking over at him.<br/>
“Well, Canada is a little. . . different, don’t you think?”<br/>
“Different? As opposed to?”<br/>
“He’s weird is all. Refuses to talk to anyone, stays isolated, can hardly look anyone in the eye. What is he hiding?”<br/>
I furrow my eyebrows a bit in confusion. Where is all this coming from? I never knew he was this suspicious of Canada.<br/>
“He isn’t hiding anything, he’s just introverted, like yourself.” He looks caught off guard by my comparison and falls silent for a while.<br/>
“I just got you back,” he begins softly, “finally I feel whole, I don’t want someone else, who reminds me of the very man who did this to us, to take you away again.”<br/>
I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t notice the similarities between Canada and Russia, but Matthew has never hurt me needlessly, never enjoyed causing me pain. He has spent the last few weeks helping me get a hold of myself and making sure my health was restored. . . Yet that is not Germany’s problem here.<br/>
My face turns sympathetic and I put my hand on his knee. He makes eye contact and those light blue eyes remind me of when he was little.<br/>
“I will never leave you like that again. No one will ever take me away from you.”<br/>
His eyes begin to water as he pulls me in for a hug. I’m surprised and return the embrace. I’m not used to him showing so much emotion. . . He must be really hurt. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 8th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Germany,” I say while stopping myself from closing the car door, “we have to go inside.”<br/>
“I know, it’s just going to be so weird. I haven’t seen Felicia since she left.”<br/>
“Come on, you’ll be fine.”<br/>
He sighs and gets out of the car.<br/>
“You have a habit of lying to make people feel better, your words hardly reassure me.” He admits, maybe a tad tоo truthfully. I just shrug and he makes a concerned sound. There are a few nations waiting around in the lobby as we walk up to the front desk to check in. Sometimes I wonder if humans ever catch on.<br/>
“Here is your room key, sir. Um, I like your accent, where are you from?” The woman at the desk asks me.<br/>
“I’m from Kaliningrad.”<br/>
“Oh. . . Uh, well, I hope you have a nice stay.” She falters.<br/>
As we step into the elevator I sigh and turn to Germany.<br/>
“It’s like a bad thing isn’t it? To be from the east?”<br/>
“Of course not, it’s just. . . you know it’s still a sensitive topic for humans.”<br/>
“You don’t need to sugar coat it. . . I guess that’s a habit of mine that has rubbed off on you.”<br/>
We remain silent for a few moments as we walk to the room and settle inside. It’s already ten in the evening once we are done.<br/>
“We should get some rest, the meeting is early tomorrow.” He says. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 9th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s weird,” Germany comments while looking at the name cards on the table, “where is your name?”<br/>
I look around the room at the other cards and notice my name on the other side of the room.<br/>
“Seems they have me over there this time.”<br/>
“Will you be okay?” He asks me worriedly.<br/>
“I’ll be just fine. I promise.” I say while putting my hand on his shoulder. I can tell he isn’t comfortable with my leaving but I have to. At least for the duration of the meeting.<br/>
As I sit down in my place, I notice America hugging Canada tightly and the annoyed face he makes. I have to stifle a laugh.<br/>
“What has you so giddy?”<br/>
I turn to my left and notice Russia sit next to me. They put our seats together??<br/>
“U-uh, nothing.” He looks over at Canada and scoffs.<br/>
“Well well, so he does exist outside of Canada. I hear you two got rather close.”<br/>
“I mean, he was just helping me get better.” Those cold lavender eyes fall back to me.<br/>
“You look wonderful, by the way.”<br/>
“Thanks. . . my time away really helped.”<br/>
“I was hoping it would. Do you wish to stay in Germany?”<br/>
“Yes. If that’s alright.”<br/>
“Of course it is, I know how much you’ve missed your family.”<br/>
Lithuania sits on my right and greets us both, effectively ending our conversation.<br/>
“Oh, Gilbert, you look great.” He comments while giving me a hug.<br/>
“So do you.”<br/>
“This is going to be painful.” Russia comments.<br/>
“What makes you say that?” Lithuania asks.<br/>
“Listening to these idiots talk about how prosperous they are is going to make me want to blow my brains out.”<br/>
“It’s only going to be two hours long.”<br/>
“Still.”<br/>
A few minutes later the meeting begins and I relax into my seat. Overall, the meeting is a lot smoother than the last one I went to. Nothing particularly interesting happens, some arguments, a few rants, nothing too crazy.<br/>
Once it ends, I immediately get up and go over to Germany, not wanting Russia to have the opportunity to ask me any more questions. He pulls me in for a hug, which is very out of character for him to say the least. I make a shocked sound and smile.<br/>
“Someone missed me.” I tease.<br/>
“I did.” He comments before letting me go.<br/>
He smiles but it soon falters as his eyes focus on something behind me. I turn around in time to see Italy approach us.<br/>
“Hey, so, France is having a little get together in her room later tonight. Are you interested?”<br/>
“Uhh, I’m not sure, sounds like a lot of stimulation.” I answer.<br/>
“Canada will be there.” She says with a knowing smile.<br/>
“We’ll see, but for now I’m going to go with Germany.”<br/>
She nods, gives him a little smile, then walks back over to France.<br/>
“I wonder if she knows what she does to me.” Germany says dejectedly. I frown and put my hand on his back.<br/>
“Come on, let’s go back to the room.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Late in the night, while Germany is asleep, I quietly leave the room with intentions to find Italy. I’m not sure which room France is staying in, but I’m sure if she is having people over it shouldn’t be hard to spot. As I approach the intersection in the hallway, I hear another pair of footsteps. I think nothing of it until I see Russia walk through and I pause. He must not have noticed me. Quietly, I go to the other side of the hallway and look around the corner to see where he is going. That’s when I notice Canada leave what must be France’s room and begin heading in my direction.<br/>
“Never took you as a social being.” Russia comments just before they pass in the hallway, stopping right in front of Canada to block his way. Canada looks up at him.<br/>
“I’m usually not.”<br/>
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Russia says in a low voice while getting a bit too close to Canada.<br/>
“I’m sorry?” He says while backing up.<br/>
I can feel my heart begin to beat faster as I watch him prey on Canada. I know this is probably because of me.<br/>
“You should stay where you belong, outside of everyone’s vision. Forgotten.” Russia ends his statement by backing Canada up against the wall and putting his hands on either side of the poor North American nation.<br/>
“I-I don’t understand.” Canada stammers.<br/>
“As I’m sure you know, Gilbert is a province of mine. I have absolute control over him, you understand at least that, yes?”<br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
“Good. I’m not very comfortable with the amount of time you’ve spent with him. While I do appreciate your help in giving him his health back, I think your relationship with him should remain professional and distant. Do I make myself clear?”<br/>
“Very clear.” He says softly.<br/>
“And as for your apparent loneliness, maybe England will give you a little visit?,” Russia taunts, roughly grabbing Canada’s jaw and forcing him to look up, “I can see why he liked to ravish you, such a pretty little face.”<br/>
“Please don’t touch me like that.” Canada says while smacking Russia’s hand away, causing the latter to lift an eyebrow in amusement.<br/>
The door that Canada came out of before opens again and America walks out and down the hall in their direction. I hide myself a little more behind the wall as Russia notices him and steps away from Canada.<br/>
“What the hell are you doing?” America asks, voice slightly raised.<br/>
“None of your business, pig.” Russia quips back.<br/>
“Sure as hell is my business if it involves putting your hands on my brother.”<br/>
“Alfred, it’s fine, I can take care of myself.”<br/>
“He’s got you pushed against the wall, I’d hardly call that taking care of yourself.”<br/>
“Nothing too insidious,” Russia begins, “just a friendly reminder of territorial boundaries. No need to be a hero here.” He gives a fake little smile to Canada before walking off down the hall.<br/>
“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you did he?” America asks, rushing over to Canada and looking over him.<br/>
“I’m fine, he was just being himself.”<br/>
“Do you want to stay with me for awhile?”<br/>
“I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Canada says softly before walking down the hall. America just stands there looking at the ground for a while before turning and following his brother. I watch the hallway for a bit before deciding on going back to the room. I’ll see Italy later and besides, I really wanted to see Canada and since he left I might as well too.<br/>
Taking a few steps back I hit something soft, like clothing. I turn around and meet Russia’s gaze.<br/>
“Did you honestly think you were well hidden?” He says, a small smile on his lips.<br/>
“I-I, uh-” His laughter interrupts me.<br/>
“I’m messing with you, no need to be so fearful. Tell me, what has you out here so late?”<br/>
“Italy wanted me to go to a get together with her.”<br/>
“Hm, France’s thing. . . Yeah, I heard about that too, I guess the invitation isn’t extended to communists.” I allow a small smile to curve my lips.<br/>
“Well, it seems like it’s ending anyway.” I say as I watch Denmark, Norway, and Austria leave the room. He sees them too and sighs, almost longingly.<br/>
“You know, I act like I don’t care but. . . for my entire life they’ve always treated me like I was some subhuman thing and all I’ve ever wanted was to be one of them.” He leans against the wall and watches Italy and Romano leave the room. “But everyone needs an enemy right? Some big bad that they have to fight against in the name of everything they hold dear.”<br/>
I open my mouth to say something but am stopped by Italy.<br/>
“Prussia! I was hoping to see you tonight!” She says while giving me a hug. I return the embrace, noticing Russia’s eyes roll.<br/>
“Hey Felicia. Sorry, it seems I’ve come too late.”<br/>
“Don’t be sorry, I’m just glad to see you now. . . How are you doing, Russia?”<br/>
He raises his eyebrows, almost like he’s surprised she even acknowledged his presence.<br/>
“Oh fine enough, little one. You look lovely tonight.”<br/>
Felicia giggles while Romano rolls his eyes.<br/>
“Ugh, come on Felicia, I’m tired of looking at the sad potato and the creepy perv.” Romano huffs while pulling her away.<br/>
“It was good seeing you both!” She calls to us.<br/>
“Creepy perv? She’s older than I am.” Russia comments, causing me to laugh.<br/>
“Yeah but you called her little one.”<br/>
“Is that it? Hmm.” He muses.<br/>
I catch him smile at me and butterflies are released in my stomach. This feels strangely normal, like everything else had been a dream and now I’m back in reality. Again, I find myself conflicted. However I spend only a few moments trying to work over how I feel as Russia closes his eyes and puts a hand on his forehead.<br/>
“Are you alright?” I ask.<br/>
“I will be, just get dizzy sometimes, it’s nothing really.”<br/>
“Do you want me to walk you to your room?” He smiles and. . . has he always had that light in his eyes?<br/>
“If you insist, but I’m fine really.”<br/>
“I do insist, if you happen to grow faint there is no way I’d be able to help move you.”<br/>
“Alright. My room is down the hall some ways on the left.” He says while gesturing to the other side of the hall. I walk with him to it and inside. The smell of alcohol hits me and I grow even more concerned, but bringing it up to him might not be conducive to keeping him in a good mood.<br/>
“What? Are you going to make sure I’m not up past my bedtime?” He jokes while sitting down on the bed.<br/>
“Just trying to make sure you are alright.” He leans back on the bed, propped up by his elbows. His position and the open coat allow me to see how thin he looks. “Have you been eating?”<br/>
He groans and fully lies back on the bed.<br/>
“Oh yes, I eat, but the economic collapse might have symptoms like weight-loss, dizziness, fatigue, and what have you.”  I give him a sympathetic look and he rolls his eyes. “So are you just going to stand there and look at me like I’m a kicked puppy, or are you going to leave?”<br/>
“You want me to leave?” I ask.<br/>
“Do what you want.” He sighs out, closing his eyes.<br/>
I take a seat next to him and run my hand through his hair.<br/>
“I know that it bothers you that I keep asking about your health, but it comes from a place of genuine worry. I want you to be healthy.”<br/>
“That is something I am not, obviously. No amount of you asking is going to change the fact that I’m dying.” He sits up and meets my eyes. “It’s like asking a human terminal with cancer whether or not they have tried eating clean and drinking water. Nothing matters, I’m going to die.”<br/>
One moment I’m staring into his lavender eyes and the next I lean forward to kiss him. I’m surprised at my own actions, and so is he if that startled sound he made meant anything. But that doesn’t stop either of us as he returns the kiss, opening his mouth and gripping my hips to make me straddle him. He’s insanely cold but I can feel the warmth in the way he kisses me and the way his right hand softly caresses my hip bone. The way our lips move together is familiar, as is his icy touch underneath my shirt that makes me break out into goosebumps.<br/>
I haven’t seen him shirtless in awhile, and as I rake my eyes down his torso I have to stop myself from reacting. He’s always been a well built man, to see him look so thin and weak is just. . . wrong. I know if I gawk for too long it’ll bother him, so I ignore the faint outline of his ribs against his skin and begin kissing down his jaw. He grips my hips tighter as I ghost my lips down his neck. I ignore the large scar across his throat as I kiss and suck at the sensitive skin.<br/>
“Gilbert, please don't tempt me, I can’t do anything too rigorous.” He says breathlessly. His voice snaps me out of my trance and I stop giving attention to his neck.<br/>
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this.” I admit. He sighs and gives me a wary look.<br/>
“You like him, don’t you.”<br/>
“What? Who?”<br/>
“That North American boy. He’s done a lot more to you than give you your health back.” He says while tracing my collar bone. His action reminds me of the love bites that must still be there from Canada. “You’ve also been a rather lustful man.”<br/>
“Coming from you is quite rich.” I say a bit defensively.<br/>
“Watch your tongue,” my eyes cast downward, “I don’t like how close you and Canada have gotten. It isn’t safe for you to be around him while being this close to me.”<br/>
“His intentions are true, I swear. He only wants to help.”<br/>
“You can’t honestly believe that. Do you think it was a coincidence that Germany and France asked Canada to care for you? You stayed with him so he could watch you, see if you’d been too influenced by my ideology, see if you knew anything about me that would be useful.”<br/>
“I don’t think he’s as sinister as you believe him to be.” I defend.<br/>
“You’re too blind to see what is truly happening. I forbid you to pursue a romantic relationship with him.”<br/>
“Ivan you can’t-”<br/>
“I was not asking. What you saw in the hall was just a fraction of what I could have done to him. I’d hate to have to hurt him.”<br/>
I look away and nod.<br/>
“Okay. I won’t pursue anything with him.”</p>
<p>December 10th, 1991</p>
<p>Our seating arrangement is the same as it was yesterday, me sitting with Eastern Europe and Germany sitting with the west. I notice Canada as I look over the western nations and wonder how he is doing. How did his encounter with Russia last night impact him? Will he stay away from me? Will I stay away from him?<br/>I watch England walk up behind the chair Canada is sitting in and put a hand on his shoulder. The North American nation tenses up a bit and looks down at the table. <br/>“You just can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?” Russia asks me as he sits next to me.<br/>“Does that bother you?” I ask, turning in my seat to look at him. <br/>“Uh, yeah I thought that was pretty obvious. I don’t like when anyone that shares a border with me gets too close to the west.” <br/>“I would hardly consider Canada a threat.” I try. <br/>“Are you arguing with me?” <br/>“. . .No.” I say dejectedly. <br/>“Good. Because he is a threat, no matter how kind and mousy he may appear. A camera can be just as harmful as a missile.” <br/>I stare down at the table in silence until I hear Russia sigh and curse under his breath. As I look up, I see America walking in our direction. <br/>“God, it’s gloomy in the east.” America comments. Russia pulls his chair out a bit so he can face him.<br/>“I’m sorry my lack of smiling upsets you, America. What do you want?” <br/>“Hm, pleasant as always.” America looks at me then back to Russia before speaking to him in a language I don’t know. If I had to guess, it sounds like Mandarin. At first Russia seems a little surprised, but as the conversation continues he looks to be severely bothered. By the end of it, as America walks back to his side of the room, Russia is gripping the side of the chair like a vice and is taking deep breaths. <br/>“Are you alright?” I venture asking.<br/>“Trying to be.” <br/>Lithuania sits down on my other side and he too gives Russia a concerned look and that’s when I feel it. That awfully familiar feeling of fear and despair, like every ounce of hope and light is sucked out, leaving nothing but emptiness and darkness. I feel Lithuania grab my arm and I notice the nation on the other side of Russia cower slightly. Lithuania begins shaking like Latvia behind me as Russia stands up and leaves the meeting room. It’s hard to snap out of the state Russia’s aura puts you in, even when he’s gone. <br/>“We have to leave. Now.” I hear Ukraine tell us. I’m not sure when she got up and walked over here, but I don’t hesitate to listen to her. She grabs my arm and leads me out of the meeting room and straight into the elevator. That’s when I regain my senses. <br/>“What are we doing, can we just leave a meeting like that?” I ask. <br/>“We can when Russia leaves like that.” She answers, holding the elevator door open for Lithuania, Latvia, Poland, and Belarus to walk in. <br/>“This is insane, let me go.” Poland snaps at Belarus, pulling his arm out of her grip. “Where the hell are we going now?” <br/>“Following Russia.” Ukraine answers cooly. <br/>“Why? Who gives a fu-” <br/>“Felix, language.” Lithuania interrupts, holding Latvia closer to him. Poland rolls his eyes and presses the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to come to an abrupt stop. <br/>“We owe Russia nothing. We are free, don’t you see that? Why should I continue to listen to you? I want nothing to do with him. If he decides to throw a fit during a meeting that is on him, why should I suffer because of his actions? I don’t want the West associating me with him anymore.” <br/>Ukraine furrows her eyebrows and crosses her arms. <br/>“You will be associated with him no matter what you do, Poland. You share a border with him, not even a year ago you were a soviet republic. You are in shambles, you are poor, and you are bland. If you honestly think for a second that Western Europe will ever give a damn about you, you are a fool.” <br/>“So what, we are just supposed to follow him around like lost dogs? I’m just supposed to be grateful for his liberation, right? Cause I never asked, and I never wanted a liberator who would just continue to subjugate my people.” <br/>“Don’t you ever compare him to Germany.” Belarus practically growls. <br/>“Stop fighting!” Latvia begins, “please. We are independent, yes, but there are certain things we must still do. I don’t like Russia either Felix, but we do have to pay attention to what he is doing and the moves he is making. Ukraine is right. The West doesn’t give a damn about us.” <br/>A heavy silence hangs in the elevator before everyone turns to look at me. <br/>“What?” I ask a bit nervously. <br/>“You spend time with the West. What do they think?” Ukraine asks. <br/>“I. . . don’t know what they think, but if their actions say anything it is that they care. Canada owes me nothing, yet he still offered to care for me so that I could get back on my feet. Lithuania has had a few meetings with America who genuinely seems to want to help us. And sure, people are wary of us and scared about the future and what may happen, but for the most part they are on our side.” <br/>I hear Poland scoff and I give him a confused look. <br/>“Of course you’d get the royal treatment. Of course you would. Why do good things keep happening to you? Is it because you gave up on all your morals? I bet leaving the Catholic Church was the best thing that ever happened to you, huh?” <br/>I’m shocked to say the least. I hardly even know how to respond. <br/>“I left the church due to ideological differences, I didn’t like the corruption I saw. And anyway that has nothing to do with anything we are talking about right now. I hardly think that being severely scarred by what happened in the last sixty years was a good thing. I could barely function when I got back to Germany.”<br/>“Oh poor you, had it rough in Russia? We all did! Not to mention having to deal with what you pulled in the thirties and forties, you are pure evil. You get what you want from the West because they look at you like Germany and your sordid relationship with Canada gets you what you want from America. But, then again, you’ve always done that.” <br/>“Done what?” I hardly recognize my own voice. <br/>“You’ve always used your feminine wiles to get what you want. After the Thirty Years War you had no objections to it.” I’ve punched Poland before, many times before, we’ve never gotten along. But Lithuania knows that, so he grabbed my arm before I could punch him again. Poland flinches slightly and then shakes his head. “It’s always been violence with you, hasn’t it? You aren’t fooling anyone with this helpless little act. I still see Prussia when I look at you.” He pulls out the emergency stop and the elevator jolts back to life. It opens on the fourth floor and Poland walks out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. I Have To Respect His Wishes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the meetings come to close, Prussia finds himself banned from being around Canada. In a tender moment they say goodbye to one another, but not without consequences.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wednesday, December 11th, 1991 : 14 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As I walk back into the hotel room I notice Austria sitting in one of the chairs near the bed. He notices me and stands up. <br/>“Why did Eastern Europe leave so suddenly during yesterday’s meeting?” He asks. <br/>“Hello Roderich, nice to see you too.” I say while taking off my jacket. He scoffs and rolls his eyes. <br/>“Yes, hello, you look a lot better. Now tell me why you left.” I smile a bit and cross my arms. I’m not going to lie, I kind of missed him. <br/>“There was some drama, but what I do not know. We move in solidarity, apparently.” <br/>“I see. . . Well, it is good to see you looking like this. I’m glad you are doing better.” <br/>“As am I. Where is Germany?” <br/>“Oh, he had some thing with America and England, I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He let me stay here because, well, he doesn’t really want you to be alone.” <br/>“That’s considerate of him, but I’m fine.” <br/>Roderich approaches me and puts his hands on my shoulders. <br/>“Oh stop, there is no need to sugar coat things. I will make sure you are alright.” I look up at him and give him a peculiar look. “What? Don’t give me that look, you know that I care about you and I have a motherly streak.” He lets go of me and puts a hand on his hip. “I have a half a mind to make sure you brush your teeth before bed.” <br/>I laugh and he smiles. <br/>“Okay, alright. I’ll let you mother me if it makes you feel good.” <br/>“It does.” He says while watching me sit on the side of the bed. “Speaking of feeling good. I heard that you and Canada are a thing.” <br/>“Who did you hear that from?” <br/>“Oh, you know, just gossip from around. I was talking to France about it and-” <br/>“Wait,” I interrupt, “you were talking to France about this? Oh my God she’s going to kill me.” <br/>“So the rumors are true?” He gets his answer from my silence. “Oh, well that explains a lot of things.” <br/>“What does it explain?” <br/>“Never mind that, darling. I’m sure France is fine with you courting her son, she didn’t seem too displeased by the idea.” <br/>I sigh and lay back on the bed. <br/>“It doesn’t matter now, Canada and I aren’t going to be anything moving forward.” <br/>“Why not?” He asks while sitting next to me.<br/>“Russia’s not comfortable with it.” <br/>“Ugh, he’s not comfortable with anything that brings any happiness.” <br/>I sit up and give Austria a look. For some reason I’m compelled to defend the man. <br/>“That’s not true. He’s worried about Canada being a spy, which I disagree with but can understand.” <br/>“I guess, but that doesn’t make my previous statement any less true. That man just knows how to torment people, I am glad to be finally free of him.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>[][][][][][][][][]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Austria’s words replay in my mind as I walk through the halls of the hotel. I shouldn’t be surprised that rumors are spreading around about Canada and I, Europe has always enjoyed gossip. I stop in my tracks abruptly as a door opens in my path, almost running into the person walking out. I apologize and so do they for opening the door so forcefully. As we go our separate ways I see Canada at the end of the hall, talking to America.<br/>“Alfred I would greatly appreciate your lack of concern, please.” <br/>“And I would appreciate it if you dropped this off-the-grid mountain man persona. We all greatly miss you, I miss you. Quite frankly, it feels like you don’t like me very much which hurts more than I think you know.” <br/>“I don’t not like you, I just wish you’d leave me alone more often and would stop showing up at my house randomly.” <br/>Canada turns and notices me, falling quiet immediately. America looks at me as well and puts on a smile. <br/>“Sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, Germany’s room is not far from here.” I say.<br/>“No you’re fine. I was just leaving anyway.” Canada comments before tilting his head and moving his eyes slightly to the left. I’ll take that as a follow him down that hall. <br/>America sighs and watches him walk away for a bit before turning to me. <br/>“I hope he isn’t as cold to you as he is to us. . . Tell Germany I said hi.” <br/>“Will do.” I say as he walks the opposite direction Canada did. Once he is out of sight, I make my way down the hall on my left and meet up with Canada where it ends. <br/>“How are you feeling?” He asks. <br/>“I’m doing alright. . . how are you?” <br/>“Much better now that I’m speaking to you.” He kisses my forehead and I’m flooded with this warm and comfortable feeling. The choice is as clear as day to me, the way Canada makes me feel pales in comparison to what Russia can do. “But unfortunately I have horrible news.” <br/>“What’s wrong?” I ask. <br/>“I had a conversation with Russia not long ago. He wants me to be distant and professional toward you. And as much as I do not want to, I have to respect his wishes.” <br/>Of course hearing him say this hurts. I know it’s not his fault, I do not blame him for heading Russia’s warning in the slightest. . . yet it still fills me with pain. <br/>“I understand. He told me something similar.” Our eyes meet as he cups my cheek and places his lips on mine. This is it, the last time we can do this for who knows how long. It’s dangerous, anyone can happen upon us at any moment. And that includes humans who wouldn’t be too keen on seeing two men like this. I savor the feeling beside all the warnings. I truly wish for things to be different, and hope that someday they may be. But for now, like the last time we tried, we cannot be together. <br/>“I’m deeply sorry.” He tells me in French. <br/>“It’s not your fault.” I answer using the Romantic language as well. <br/>As I watch him walk away I find myself not wanting to participate in our last meeting. I know that I must, so my feet begin moving toward that direction. Leaving Canada was a very regrettable choice and I wish we could have stayed longer. <br/>The meeting starts with most of Eastern Europe missing and I get suspicious. Were we not supposed to show up today? I don’t remember being told to stay in our rooms. Regardless, things are smoother than usual without Russia present, and the meeting ends before schedule. As I prepare myself to collect the paper before me and stand, a hand places itself near them and hips fall suit. I look up and see France sitting on the side of the table near me, legs crossed. <br/>“Hello Prussia.” She says in a smooth voice. <br/>“France.” <br/>“You look better, I am glad to see you doing so well.” <br/>“Thank you.” I say. I’m very suspicious of her, and I’m not sure what she is trying to do. She gives me a little smile before standing up and walking directly behind my chair. <br/>“Is it true that you and my son have become romantically involved?” Austria I thought you said she wasn’t too displeased by the idea. . . <br/>“Uh-” <br/>“Don’t worry,” she leaves her spot from behind me and sits down in the spot labelled Soviet Union. “I’m not some disappointed mother who came here to chastise you. I want to hear what is going on from your perspective.” <br/>“Oh, well, I suppose you could say that we have been romantically involved.” <br/>She smiles brightly and I am beyond confused. <br/>“That’s what Canada said. Although he was a lot more flustered than you are, which only tells me how much this means to him. . .” Her smile drops as she takes one of my hands into both of hers. “I know that our past is. . . less than satisfactory. And that I was integral in taking your nationhood away but if you are to pursue something with my son I think it would behoove us to be at least cordial with one another. Perhaps even friends if fate allows.”<br/>“Friends? Uhm. . .” <br/>“Well not right away of course. . . but, I couldn’t imagine how much stress it would put on both you and Matthew if we didn’t at least get along. I know that vengeance is my middle name, but I have changed a lot since the forties.” <br/>Sure, that must be easy for her to say. What more could she possibly take from me? She killed the Holy Roman Empire, attempted to destroy Germany when I made him, took my nationhood away, and continues to make life a living hell for Germany. But I appreciate the olive branch. <br/>I take my hand out of hers and gather my papers. <br/>“I’m torn between taking offence and accepting your. . . acquaintance.” Friendship is too strong a word. <br/>“I figured you would say as much. I just want you to know how I feel, and that I hope the future can be different for us.” <br/>I stand up and so does she. The way she is looking up at me is wearing me down. It’s hard for me to hold grudges, even when I desperately want to. I sigh. <br/>“Alright, I’ll give it a chance. But, I can’t be with your son.” <br/>Her eyebrows furrow and she puts a hand on her hip. Her position is so similar to Hungary’s that I almost anticipate being hit with a frying pan. <br/>“Why not?”  <br/>“Russia, unfortunately, has forbidden it.” <br/>“Hmpf, I’ll have to speak with him. I know this is weird for you, me being so kind, but Canada means the world to me and seeing him happy is everything. That boy has been so upset for so long, and if you can restore even just a little bit of the light he used to have it’ll all be worth it.” She gives me another smile before turning and walking away. I never in a million years expected her to do that. <br/>My mood is decently high as Germany and I pack up our things in the hotel room. <br/>“I’ll go down and return the room key, I’ll meet you in the car.” I say while grabbing two keys off the dresser. <br/>“Alright.” Comes his answer. <br/>The woman at the front desk seems a bit unnerved by me but I’m used to humans being creeped out by my appearance. She stutters out a good day as I start walking down the hall that leads out to where we parked the car. Just before I can reach the exit, one of the doors in the hallway opens abruptly and I’m pulled in rather forcefully. The door slams behind me and I’m pushed against it. The room is dim and my heart is racing. <br/>“Weren’t you renowned for your intelligence?” Russia says in a dark voice. <br/>“I-I, what?” <br/>“Were you, or were you not, renowned for your intelligence?” He asks me again in German which frightens the ever living soul out of me. <br/>“I suppose so.” I answer in a quivering voice. <br/>“So you could imagine my surprise when Poland told me that you deliberately disobeyed me. What did I tell you about Canada?” <br/>A cold chill runs through me as I realize Poland must have seen Canada and I kissing before the meeting. He should have known that if Russia found out about that he would have punished me, why would he do that? Does he really hate me that much? <br/>“We were just saying goodbye.” I try. <br/>“Oh, my little mouse, it doesn’t matter.” His eyes darken and that cold feeling grips my body as I feel like all the light from the world has been ripped away. His hand comes up to my throat and tightens considerably. My mouth falls open as my ability to breathe is taken away from me. “You don’t have to be alive. I can take away what I gave you, it wouldn't be hard.” My hands desperately come up to his to try and pull them away from me but he is much stronger than I am. I try begging but my voice is lost. The burning in my chest sends a wave of dizziness to my head and my vision begins to blur and blacken around the edges.<br/>I think about a lot of things as my eyes fail me and my world turns to black. I see my old house in Königsberg, I hear the creaking of the door as I open it and step inside. My eyes meet Holy Rome’s and he smiles at me. I fall to the floor ungracefully and gasp for air, coughing violently as I do so. A few moments pass before I can really start to calm down and take in what is happening around me. <br/>“I never liked hurting you.” He comments. <br/>“Then why?” I ask, hardly able to manage a whisper. <br/>“It’s the only way you listen. You don’t understand why I’m afraid of Canada so you don’t listen to me. But if you’re afraid of me you’ll listen.” <br/>I want to say that I did listen, that he must be so cruel as to forbid us from saying goodbye? That it doesn’t have to be like this. But the pain in my throat is so much I cannot speak. My breath comes in and out like a wheeze. “Don’t disobey me again, understand?” <br/>I nod and he leans down to place a kiss on my cheek before leaving the room. An overwhelming need to cry hits me and I shut my eyes. I hate being reduced to this, I hate feeling so weak and helpless in his wake. Panic wells up in my chest as hot tears threaten to fall from my eyes, my heart refuses to slow down and my hands begin to shake. The whole world feels like it’s crashing down, I’m going to die. His hand isn’t even around my throat anymore but I can’t breathe. My shuddering gasps for air seem to get me nowhere. I’m light-headed and feel I can just pass out at any moment. Maybe I did. I can’t tell anymore. Hands place themselves on my shoulder and I fear Russia has come back to finish what he started. <br/>“Gilbert? What’s going on, are you alright?” I open my eyes and meet Germany’s. He softly turns my face to the side and tenses his jaw. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.” He pulls me into his chest and he holds me until my breathing has returned to normal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. I Ran</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Prussia remains desolate in Germany after his violent encounter with Russia, the POV shifts to Italy. Currently she is living with France, doing as well as she can after her break-up with Germany. Things seem normal until Italy learns something she shouldn't, calling Canada's intentions into question. Unfortunately, she does not remember the incident and continues narrating the chapter like nothing had happened. Eventually she reaches a profound conclusion about herself and Germany.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday, December 12th, 1991 : 13 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some people clear their minds and come to their best conclusions while in the shower. Others will go for a long drive somewhere and some will think as they lie in bed. But for me, running is the best way to help me solve all of my problems. And sure, running away from things is a bad habit of mine, but I genuinely enjoy the act of running. Back in the day I was faster than France and could go longer than Germany. All jokes and white flags aside, I am a very good runner. <br/>At the moment I live on the outskirts of Paris, in a cute little suburb that most people couldn’t afford. It’s a good neighborhood with sidewalks and pretty trails you can take that wind around the houses and streets. The longest trail is ten kilometers (6.2 miles) roundtrip; I take that one every morning right as the sun begins to shine. It makes me feel human, something I’ve longed to be for most of my life. <br/>Sometimes I’ll stop by a small flower shop just before going into the city. They have a wide variety of the most beautiful flowers from around the region and are always perfect for the vase in France’s kitchen. Today, I picked up an arrangement of orange roses with Peruvian lilies and white carnations accented with baby’s breath. I thought she would appreciate the orange shades for autumn, and besides, the last arrangement I picked up is beginning to get a little old. <br/>But now, as I enter the house, there is no sign of her. I quickly arrange the fresh flowers in the vase before calling for her around the house. <br/>“Frances?” I call in the living room, the dining room, everywhere. I don’t recall her telling me if she had any plans, I swore she was supposed to be home today. Well, I guess she’ll be alright. She is a grown woman after all, she can do as she pleases. <br/>Sighing tiredly I walk upstairs and lay out a fresh pair of clothes on my bed before stripping down and turning on the shower. I look at myself in the mirror while taking my ponytail out and sigh. It’s been sometime but I can still see the yellowish bruising on my biceps and greenish hand shaped marks on my thighs.<br/>I still remember that night like it was yesterday; that bruising grip on my arm, my face against the wall, I could hardly even speak let alone breathe. My boundaries were constantly being pushed, I didn’t appreciate the feeling of fear that shrouded my mind as my back hit the sheets and my thighs were forcefully ripped apart. I don’t like that feeling. That no matter how hard I fight I’ll never be strong enough to assert myself. My muscles were so tired from it they were literally shaking, screaming at me to lie still. <br/>I remember the back of his hand gently trailing down my face, he asked if the fight in me was gone. That gesture, those words, him straddling me with no chance of escape frightened me so badly I began to cry. He immediately switched and asked me what was wrong, wiped my tears away and pulled me into a tight embrace. I cried for a while into his chest before I convinced myself that I had had enough, and I needed some time away to think. But I was scared of his reaction. Scared he’d hurt me worse than that. <br/>“I have to use the bathroom.” I remember saying and he let go of me. Slowly I stood up on shaky legs, sore muscles threatening to crumble underneath me. <br/>“Do you need help?” He asked. <br/>“No, it’s okay. I can make it.” I was biting back more tears as I used the wall to help me get down the hall, grabbing the phone and hiding in the closet. I dialed a number and prayed. <br/>“Hello?” <br/>“Frances? Hi, this is Felicia.” <br/>“Oh, hello darling. It is so lovely to hear your voice, but you sound disturbed, is everything alright?” <br/>“Umm,” I choked back tears, “I wanted to know if it’d be alright with you if I stayed in France for a little while.” <br/>“Of course you can stay with me, I would be more than happy to see you again. . . But, I’m afraid this is more than just a simple visit.” <br/>“. . . It's Germany. . . I can’t do this anymore.” <br/>“Of course my dear, you are more than welcome to stay with me.”<br/>“Thank you so much Frances, you have no idea how much this means to me.”<br/>I remember hanging up the phone and shakily walking out of the closet. That’s when I ran into Germany.<br/>The sight of fog on the mirror pulls me from my thoughts. I guess I better hop in the shower before I waste all the hot water. I don’t want to think about that night anymore. As I step into the shower and begin lathering myself up with soap, I notice how tender my bruises are still. Normally I would have healed faster than this, but something about the break-up must be holding me up. Seventy years is a long time to be with someone, a long time to love someone, and I’m just not fully over it. Truthfully, I felt myself pulling away from Germany for some time. I felt like there was nothing I could do anymore that would make him happy. That wall came down and so did our connection. Sure, I miss being with him and loving him but my happiness and well-being is important too. <br/>The front door opens and closes right when I finish putting a new set of clothes on. <br/>Must be France! <br/>I walk down stairs and into the kitchen only to be met with Canada’s cold, violet gaze. <br/>“Oh, we were expecting you a little later this evening, I’m sorry I didn’t greet you.” I say. <br/>“No need to apologies, I am the early one. . . I take it that France isn’t home?” He asks in a voice accented like England’s. <br/>“She is not. I’m actually unsure of where she went, but I’m positive she will be back soon.” <br/>“Alright. . . You don’t mind if I sit here and wait, do you?” <br/>“Of course not, go right ahead. . . Would you like some tea?” <br/>“Sure, it couldn’t hurt.” I smile at him and he gives me a small one back. We make small talk for awhile as I make the tea. His presence is strangely comforting, his voice is so smooth, soft, and posh it makes you want to believe everything he says. He could literally put poison in my cup right in front of me and tell me that it wouldn’t hurt me and I’d believe him. That’s just one of his special properties I guess. He could be incredibly manipulative but you’d never guess it. <br/>Before we even finish our tea, France comes through the front door holding a bag of groceries.<br/>“I’m sorry dear that I left while you were running, but I noticed we needed a few things for tonight’s dinner. Oh, Matthew, I wasn’t expecting you this early. I'm so glad to see you!” She sets the bag down and kisses his cheeks. <br/>“Glad to see you as well.” <br/>I help her set out the ingredients for dinner and wash a few of the vegetables while Canada sits at the island and watches us. <br/>“I heard that Russia was less than kind to you at the meeting we had yesterday.” France comments. <br/>“He was just being himself.” <br/>“Did he put his hands on you?”<br/>“He didn’t hurt me.” <br/>“That’s not what I asked, Matthew.” She sighs and places the knife down. “Where does he get off on touching you like that? He should know better. . . I refuse to believe that is just how he acts, it only excuses his bad behavior.”<br/>“Wait,” I interrupt, “he hit you?” <br/>“No. I was completely fine. He merely used harsh words.” <br/>“Is this because of Prussia?” France adds. <br/>“U-uh, most likely.” Canada looks between us as a small blush comes to his face. <br/>“Aww he does have it bad.” I joke to France. <br/>“I told you,” she giggles, “love is a wonderful thing.” <br/>“And too strong of a word. . . Can both of you promise me we will not talk about Prussia with the other two here?” <br/>“Of course. Why not?” France asks. <br/>“I would rather not spend the night being hounded by America on all the details of what Prussia and I may be. . . Not to mention the topic is a little sore, since I’ve been strongly discouraged from seeing him.” <br/>“Ugh,” France rolls her eyes, “I will never understand Russia’s overbearing need to cause so much evil in the world. He never used to be like that. . .” <br/>“I know.” I solemnly agree. I can still remember the first time I met Russia. My grandfather took my brother and I to Constantinople to see papa, and that’s when I met him. Papa and Russia were together for a very long time, and I always remembered Russia as a very happy and hopeful person. He would take care of me and Romano when my grandfather and papa had business to attend to. I loved the stories he would tell us. He was probably only physically sixteen though. I know a lot has changed since then. <br/>“It is true, he has changed, but. . . I don’t know he had never been so aggressive to me before so it just felt weird. But I was and am fine.” Canada says softly.  <br/>“Alright,” France sighs out, “I’ll stop asking about it. And we promise not to bring up Prussia.” <br/>“Thank you.” <br/>Not long after our conversation England and America finally show up. We all catch up with each other while Frances and I prepare dinner. It is an amazing time to say the least, filled with laughs, anecdotes, and good food. Around midnight France calls it and we all retreat into our respective rooms. I follow France to hers and right as I close the door she wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. She’s incredibly intoxicating. It’s hard not to swoon at the touch of her hand, or the sound of her dazzling voice. I’m done for every single time.<br/>“I hope that wasn’t too weird for you.” She says while dressing down to the lingerie she had underneath her clothes. I watch her, mesmerized for a few moments before gaining my ability to speak again. <br/>“No, not at all. It was a nice night.” <br/>She crawls onto the bed and lies down on her back, allowing one of her hands to trail up her stomach and chest, up to her mouth where she teasingly bites her index finger. Oh my, she’s hard to resist. Almost as if I’m in a trance I slowly walk over to her and crawl onto the bed. <br/>“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. . . Sometimes the tension between us gets to be a little much, but tonight was surprisingly agreeable.” She says while turning on the lamp next to her side of the bed. <br/>“It was.” I say softly, resting my head on her stomach and holding her tightly. <br/>“Alright, let’s see, we left off on chapter six.” She says before opening up the book she has been reading to me. Her voice is so comforting, I absolutely love listening to it. This is how she normally puts me to sleep if we don’t spend the night getting intimate. <br/>After two more chapters her voice begins to crack, causing me to sit up. <br/>“Do you want me to get you some water?” I offer. <br/>“That would be lovely, dear.” <br/>I give her a quick kiss before putting on a satin robe and heading toward the kitchen. As I approach, it becomes apparent that people are already there, speaking. I prepare myself to greet them before something stops me in my tracks. <br/>“I don’t know I-” <br/>“Usually you are a lot more discreet than this. What is wrong?”<br/>Canada sounds awfully distressed as England quietly scolds him. I feel bad for listening in on them but my curiosity gets the better of me. <br/>“Nothing is wrong, Russia is just observant and cynical by nature.” <br/>“If you knew that going into it why weren’t you more careful?” <br/>“How could I have been more careful than literally leaving Europe?” <br/>“. . . The plan was smart to begin with but people talk. Is anyone else suspicious?” <br/>“No, not to my knowledge. No one really suspects much of me.” <br/>“I know, that’s why I asked you. Not to mention America could never be so discreet. . . Tell me what you learned.” <br/>“Exactly what I suspected, Prussia is no threat. There is no information that I would be able to get from him that would be useful for you. And I’m disappointed that you even asked me to do this.” <br/>“Well you did it, didn’t you?” <br/>“Because I wanted to help a sick man get better. I never wanted to be a part of this. . .” <br/>“You cannot play the sad act now, Matthew. You are in this too deep. Do you understand how hard it was for me to convince France to suggest to Italy and Germany you be the one to look over him? I didn’t do that so you could become friends or, God-forbid, lovers. I want to know if he poses a threat to democracy, and if he had any information that could help us with the Terror of The North.” <br/>Some silence passes between them before Canada speaks up. <br/>“I already told you he is not a threat, and he has no information that would be useful.” <br/>“What of these rumors? Are they true?” <br/>“No.” <br/>“Really? Because I have some pretty incriminating evidence that would suggest otherwise. Like you and him in a rather romantic embrace.” <br/>“You know what work like this entails, sometimes you have to play along.” <br/>“Well your playing along has gotten you in trouble, and has possibly compromised us to Russia.” <br/>“I know. . . I’m sorry.” <br/>“Lay low for a while.” <br/>“I plan to.” <br/>My heart is racing as I hear footsteps walk down the opposite hall. I’m so shocked by what I overheard that I can’t move my feet from where they stand. Should I tell France? Oh no, poor Prussia. . . Is he in danger? Has Canada had a nefarious intention this entire time? Did I unknowingly invite more evil into his life? <br/>“Oh, Felicia, I wasn’t expecting you to be standing there.” Canada says as he walks into the hallway. <br/>“Oh, um, yeah, I was, uh, just getting some water.” I manage, meeting his cold purple gaze. <br/>“As was I. . . You seem nervous, Felicia are you alright?” <br/>“Yes, I’m just fine. Nightmare is all.” For some reason I find myself getting cold, very cold. My bottom lip finds itself in between my teeth to stop their chattering. <br/>“You’re still shivering. Would you like me to walk you back to your room?” <br/>“Uh, no, I’ll be fine.” <br/>I’ve always been able to sense danger well, and right now my meter is going off the charts. But why? Canada hardly has a threatening bone in his body, not to mention he’s never hurt me before. Yet for some reason something is telling me to get out of here. Against my better judgement I remain standing with him in the hallway. <br/>“I insist.” <br/>I find myself slowly back away from him, heart picking up as adrenaline begins to enter my bloodstream. <br/>“It’s okay, thank you though.” <br/>“I thought you were going to the kitchen for water?” <br/>“Uh, I’m just tired. I’ll get some in the morning.” He takes a step toward me and I feel my flight or fight kick in. <br/>Flight. <br/>I turn to run down the hall but he grabs my arm and pulls me back, immobilizing my arms with one of his. I’m so shocked by the sudden turn of events I can’t process the situation properly. I open my mouth to call for France but find it covered by his other hand. My heart is practically beating out of my chest as I struggle to no avail in his grip. He is unbelievably strong. <br/>“I am so sorry Felicia. You should have just stayed in your room.” <br/>His hand uncovers my mouth, yet, before I can gather up the energy to scream something pushes into my arm. <br/>“Wh-what was that? What are you doing?” I ask in a shaky voice. <br/>“Nothing harmful. You’re just going to sleep for a couple of hours, and forget what had happened.” <br/>A strong wave of fatigue washes over me and my muscles begin to fail me. He picks me up and begins walking me toward my bedroom. Once we get to the top of the stairs I see France walking down the hallway and I try calling to her for help to no avail. <br/>“What happened?” She asks, rushing over toward us. <br/>“She fell a bit faint while in the kitchen. Poor thing must be under a lot of stress.” He answers. <br/>“Oh, Felicia my dear. Do you mind carrying her to my room? I’ll watch over her.” <br/>“Of course.” Every bone in my body is trying to scream for help but I don’t move. I don’t speak. I feel like I’m experiencing sleep paralysis. He lays me down on her bed and I remain dead still. <br/>“Was she feeling ill earlier?” He asks. <br/>“I don’t think so, she didn’t mention anything. But she has been under a lot of emotional stress due to the break-up. Thank you for taking care of her.” <br/>“Of course. Good night.” <br/>“Good night, darling.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 13th, 1991</p>
<p>I found that ever since I started viewing France in a romantic way I began comparing her to Germany. Last night's dinner came with a lot of comparisons, for example. She was so at home with herself, carried the conversations so well, smiled lovingly, and was proud of the ones she loved. Germany had never been good with conversation, sometimes stumbling over his words more so then he actually said anything meaningful. We had so many quiet dinners, where only the sound of our silverware hitting plates filled the room. Sometimes I’d try to start conversations but they never lasted. . . <br/>It’s so easy to get France to smile. She laughs at my jokes, smiles when I walk into the room, and allows herself to feel happiness and joy unabashedly. Getting Germany to smile is like pulling teeth; he finds nothing funny, deadpans at me when I do silly things, and refuses to allow himself to have any sort of fun. The last time I saw Germany smile like a normal person was before the Great War. . . He really changed after all that. <br/>France knows how to touch me. She has a gift, the gift of knowing exactly what to do. Her sultry smirk can get my heart pounding, or the way her delicate fingers hold onto my hips. She kisses me breathless, holds me and touches me like my body is the only thing she can feel. Everything is so soft, delicate, loving, sensual. She is the epitome of passion, something Germany hardly knows the meaning of. Sure, I liked the way he held me at night and the little kisses I’d get from him throughout the day. . . But there was just something so dark behind it all, how he could bruise me so easily, enjoyed my pained expressions. France made love to me, Germany conquered me. <br/>I don’t mean to compare the two so much but I can’t help it. It shows me just how much I missed being happy, missed being with someone who could be happy. Leaving Germany was so hard for me to do but. . . I think we will both be better for it in the long run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 14th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If he was nothing but one thing it was punctual. Right when the clock struck five a knock sounded on the door. <br/>“You know, it’s not too late to cancel.” I offer. <br/>“Oh don’t worry darling, I know exactly how to handle him.” She reaches up and caresses my cheek. “This shouldn’t take too long. I’ll come and get you when it’s all over.”<br/>I put on a worried face and she giggles. <br/>“If you say so. . . I’ll be close enough to come help if you need it.” I offer. <br/>“It’ll be alright, Felicia. Now go, I have to answer the door.” She says before giving me a quick kiss. I don’t want her to be alone but I know she’s a grown woman and can handle herself. I dip into another room but press my ear against the wall so I can hear everything. If she needs me I’ll be there at a moment's notice. <br/>“It’s been such a long time since I’ve been invited into your home. It’s lovelier than I could have ever imagined.” I hear Russia’s deep, heavily accented English easily through the wall. <br/>“Thank you, Ivan. . . Unfortunately this little meeting is about business, not pleasure.” <br/>“Hm, where’s the fun in that?” I don’t like the tone of his voice. Not one bit. <br/>“I know, but bear with me. Would you like some tea?” <br/>“That sounds wonderful.” <br/>I don’t hear their voices for a few minutes and it makes me nervous. Just before I move to check up on them I hear her voice.<br/>“I wanted to talk to you about the last international meeting we had. . . I know what you did to Canada.” <br/>“Then I’m sure you know what he had done to warrant my reaction.” <br/>“I doubt a physical reaction was necessary. Their relationship is harmless, let them be together.” <br/>“This is about national security Frances, I’m sure you understand.” His voice almost sounds like he is smirking, enjoying the mischief and discomfort he’s causing. <br/>“You used to be so gracious and kind. . . I was hoping to evoke that part of you today.” She says in a small voice. He chuckles a bit before answering her. <br/>“You were really banking on the few good times we had together so long ago? I am no longer that boy you knew, France. There is none of that left in me.” <br/>“Are you trying to tell me that all of that is gone? What we had?” <br/>“This, uh, is not going to work on me. I’m sorry, but you can’t pretend like nothing happened between us for decades, nay, centuries, then all of a sudden remember it and try to use it against me when you want something. I loved you. Loved is the key word. Past tense.” <br/>“I’m sorry that I hurt you by being so distant and cold. Vengeance has always gotten the better of me, and I apologize that I left you alone because of it. I know you haven’t had it easy, and I know that you’re dying. . . I’m just trying to look out for my boy, I know how happy Prussia makes him.” <br/>“. . . It would still be potentially dangerous.” <br/>“Is this more than just national security?” She asks. <br/>“What? What do you mean?” <br/>“Do you, perhaps, forbid Prussia from this because you yourself want him?” <br/>“Well of course I want him, I want him to be completely loyal to me. . . What?. . . No, it’s not like that, absolutely not. . . Fine, I’ll tell you what. I’ll allow this contemptible relationship between the two of them in exchange for a favor from you.” <br/>A long silence follows after his words and I press myself against the wall a little more to try and listen better. <br/>“What do you want me to do?” She finally speaks up.<br/>“I just want you to owe me a favor. When the time comes, no questions asked.” This time I can hear the smirk through his words, the sinister tone behind it all, and the power he holds over her at the moment. It makes me uncomfortable. <br/>“Deal.” <br/>I cover my mouth in shock. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 15th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To prove my loyalty. It’s for my people. <br/>It was 1917 and I was nervous, scared, sick to my stomach. The gates were always open. The moon was full, hanging in the sky like a bulb. <br/>I could see the open gates, the large fountain in Austria’s front lawn, and the lack of security out tonight. My information was good. I avoided the path up to the front doors, using the grass instead to silence my steps. My job was one thing and one thing only: kill Germany. <br/>I had been on the German side since the beginning of the war, but switched once the allies gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse. In order to prove my loyalty I must kill Germany’s physical form. Sure, we all know he will just come back, but it’ll put him out of commission for a few days and really mess with Prussia’s focus. It’ll help give us the edge we need to end this God-forsaken war. <br/>I approach one of the windows to the piano room and slowly slide it open. Nothing can compare to the relief I feel as I notice the maid working on the inside did as she was told. She was supposed to leave the window unlocked and use the powder we gave her to sedate the dogs and Prussia. My heart picks up as I quietly move through the dark house, finding the large marble staircase that’ll take me to the bedrooms. Once on the second floor I turn to my right and count the doors until I’m before the one Germany should be in. Conveniently, the door is slightly ajar, allowing me to softly push it open. I step into the room while taking the knife on my belt into my hands. The plan is simple. Cut his throat while he’s sleeping, take away his ability to fight or call for help, and leave him dead among the soaked red sheets as I escape through the window and onto one of the horses the maid will be waiting with outside. Her reward is immunity and a quiet place in France. <br/>My hands begin to shake as I look down at the bed before me. He looks so peaceful, asleep on top of the covers, moonlight shining off his bare chest and stomach. I can’t help but be overwhelmed by so many memories and my feelings for him. I’m torn between doing what is right by my nation, and what is right by my heart. The grip on my knife couldn’t be any tighter as I try to convince myself to step forward and get it over with. As I lift the knife, however, an arm comes around my waist and a hand wraps around my mouth. My gasp is muffled, the knife in my hand falls silently onto the plush sheets of the bed. I’m lifted off of the ground and pulled out of the room despite my attempt to fight. <br/>My screams are muffled, but what would even happen if they weren’t? I’m in enemy territory, no one will come to save me. <br/>“Ah!” I gasp as I’m dropped on to the floor. <br/>“Huh. It would seem you are correct.” I look up and see Austria sitting in a chair before me, tight grip on the arm of a maid. <br/>“I’m so sorry, please, I just wanted a better life for my son-” She tries pleading but is cut off by a loud gunshot and drops dead to the floor. Once the ringing in my ears subside I look behind me and see Prussia standing there, gun in hand. <br/>“I thought we were going to try and do this silently.” Austria says. <br/>“I don’t like begging. Might as well end it before I change my mind.” Prussia’s eyes look down at me with no hint of mercy or compassion. All I can see is pure bloodlust. <br/>“Fair enough. . . What are you doing here, Italy?” I turn back to Austria and attempt to stand, but am kicked back down by Prussia. “Answer me.” <br/>With tears in my eyes I look at Austria. <br/>“I’m sure you already know everything.” <br/>“That’s low, even for France. To come here at the dead of night to secretly kill a boy.” <br/>“We could let the dogs tear her apart.” Prussia says from behind me. <br/>“We could. Or you could end her like the poor maid. It’ll be cleaner.” <br/>“Suit yourself.” <br/>“Wait!” The door opens and we all turn to look. Germany puts his hand on Prussia and makes him lower the gun. “Let her go.” <br/>“She came here to kill you.” Prussia says. <br/>“I know. . . Please just let her go.” Austria thinks for a few moments before relenting. <br/>“Fine, we will let her go.” Tears fall from my eyes as Germany helps me stand up.<br/>“Ah!” I yelp as I open my eyes. <br/>“Felicia? Is something the matter?” France asks groggily. I look around the room and recognize it as hers. <br/>“Oh, nothing. . . One of those dreams you know?” <br/>“I hate when I get those.” <br/>“What time is it?” I ask, heart still pounding from my dream. <br/>“Nearly three in the morning. Are you sure you’re alright?” <br/>“I just need to clear my head.” I mutter out, quickly putting on my running shoes and slipping on a bra. <br/>“Hun, it’s too early for you to be running around the neighborhood, it can be dangerous.” <br/>“I’ll be fine. I need to do this.” <br/>I run down the stairs and out the door, turning left on the sidewalk and running almost at a sprint. I just wish I could get Germany out of my head. Dreaming about betraying him isn’t helping me get over him. I keep getting bombarded with thoughts of him, swirling around in my mind. I run, trying to get away from the memories, trying to forget how he makes me feel, trying to stop loving him. I remember the first time I looked into his bright blue eyes and how my heart skipped a beat. How we used to play together as children, how we fought on each other's side, how broken he was when I left not once but twice. I remember how happy I was when he chose me over Czechia, his warm smile looked just like Holy Rome’s. <br/>I remember the balls Austria used to host before the Great War and how handsome Germany was and how he would always ask for my first and last dance. <br/>He was so broken and I wasn’t there for him after everything that happened in 1947. How could I be? By the time we reconciled I thought we could be happy again, I wanted what we had all those years ago. . . But there was a Prussia shaped whole in his heart that I could never fill. He’s so self-conscious now, scared to appear passionate. He dilutes himself into a safe empty husk that is easy for others to consume. He has a lot of anger still inside of him that comes out in the worst ways, and lingering sadistic tendencies that frighten me. <br/>I feel tears well in my eyes, I am out of breath, almost hyperventilating. My body goes numb and I fall into the grassy field I ran into. <br/>He needed me and I did what I do best. I ran.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Need Your Forgiveness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Back to Prussia's POV: Clearly the violent encounter with Russia has caused Prussia to slip back a little. Worried, Germany calls the only person he knows who can help Prussia. Unaware of Canada's ulterior motives, Prussia and Germany accept him back into the house. However, a call from Russia leaves everyone feeling tense.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Monday, December 16th, 1991 : 9 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boat sways this way and that. Gentle waves knock against the hull, softly rocking the vessel along its way. I’ve gotten used to this back and forth dance, my balance and mind no longer swirl about helplessly to the movement of the ship. The sirens have been absent since our ship was overwhelmed, but I’ve noticed the voices of my crew less and less. Sometimes I look at the beige wall before me and it swirls and dances like the ship amongst the waves. The carpet, the ceiling, the wall. All blend together into one dark mass. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve gone blind. Unable to see anything else but the blurry beige of the wall, the soft brown of the hull. <br/>The rocking comes back but a bit harsher. It pushes me closer and closer to the void. I don’t like staring at it for too long. I can’t tell time, I don't know where I am, who I am, anything - when I look into the emptiness. All I can feel is his hand wrapped around my throat, threatening to send me into the void. I replay it again and again, my air is gone, his violent purple eyes holding no remorse, no hesitation. No one was there. No one would know. No one can save me. The only thing that saved me was a whim. A whim of his to let me go. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 17th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here this will help.” Germany says softly while handing me an ice pack. I put it on my neck, shivering at the contact. The icy touch reminds me of Russia, cold hand wrapped around me and I drop the pack. <br/>“I- I can’t use that.” <br/>He sighs sadly and picks it up as I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs.<br/>“I called Canada.”<br/>“You what? Why?” I can feel my heart beginning to race already. <br/>“You’ve slipped back a little and I think it’s important for him to come and see how you’ve been. Not to mention the bruises around your throat look awful, I just want to make sure bruising is all he did.” <br/>“He can’t come here, I can’t see him anymore.” I say. He sits next to me on the bed and puts a hand on my back. <br/>“It’s okay. France talked to Russia and got everything sorted out. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you.” <br/>“Really? He listened to her?” I ask, a bit dumbfounded. <br/>“Yes. . . And, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting toward Canada, I guess I’ve been. . . Jealous.” <br/>I furrow my eyebrows and move to a cross-legged position. <br/>“There is nothing to be jealous of. You’re like a son to me, I will always love you.” <br/>“That’s the problem. . . I don’t want to be like a son to you,” he wrings his hands a bit, sighing heavily, “I have romantic feelings for you.”<br/>At first I’m surprised by his confession, but once I start thinking about where this could have come from, I remember that time in Austria when he kissed me. I remember when he tried again in the interwar period and then again during the second world war. It has been so long since I’ve thought about this I nearly forgot. I can’t believe I completely spaced this, I should have known. “But I understand now that you don’t view me in that way, and that’s okay.” He finishes up. <br/>“I’m sorry, Ludwig. I should have addressed this better when you were younger.” <br/>“Don’t be, I’m the one who should be sorry. I know that I have the tendency to be very forceful, and I apologize for that.” <br/>I put my hand on his and he looks up at me. <br/>“It’s okay.”<br/>“I’m happy for you and Canada, really. But if he hurts you I will kill him.” <br/>I laugh and he smiles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 18th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think. . .” Canada starts, gently placing his hand on my jaw to move my head to the side, “you are very lucky. The bruising is extraordinary and your larynx is damaged but that seems to be all thank goodness. I would have liked to see this right after it happened, but since it has been a few days and you haven’t had any other side effects I think it’s safe to rule out internal bleeding.” His hand moves to my cheek and he looks into my eyes. “I’m so sorry he did this to you and that I was not there to prevent it.” <br/>“It’s okay. I’m fine and you’re here now which is all that really matters.” I say softly. <br/>“Isn’t it beautiful.” France says while leaning against Germany. <br/>“Uh, sure.” He answers, blush spreading on his cheeks. <br/>“Well if we are to stay for dinner, we should get started on that. Would you mind showing me around the kitchen?” She asks him. <br/>“Of course.” Germany answers, following her up and out of the basement. I look back to Canada as he pulls a small container out of his bag. <br/>“This will help with the bruising,” he begins, opening the container and kneeling in front of me, “you’ll have to put it on two to three times a day.” He takes some of the cream on the tips of his fingers and gently applies it to my neck. The grip I have on my knees relaxes once he is finished. He closes the container and puts it on my nightstand. <br/>“So, I know that our future is uncertain mostly because of my tendency to hide in the wilderness. That being said, I’m willing to be more outgoing if this is something you still want.” He says, taking a seat next to me on the bed. <br/>“Of course I still want this. You have no idea how happy you make me.” I admit, causing him to smile. <br/>“Okay, it’s settled then.” <br/>The door to the basement opens and Germany walks down. <br/>“Ukraine just called. She said that you need to meet with Russia tomorrow afternoon.” <br/>“Why?” I ask uneasily. <br/>“Don’t worry, I can go with you.” Canada offers.<br/>“She didn’t say why but she specifically said that you must be alone.” <br/>“That’s absurd, there is no way I’m letting those two be in the same room alone.” <br/>“I don’t like it either,” Germany begins, “but we have to respect his wishes. Gilbert is a Russian province there is nothing we can do.” <br/>I put a hand on Canada’s thigh and look up at Germany. <br/>“You two don’t have to worry. I’ll do what he wants. It’ll be okay.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 19th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The inside of the taxi was warm, but I shivered nonetheless. He pulled up to the old house and I paid him. I really wanted to just get back into the car and tell him to drive off as fast as he could, but when I turned around he was already driving off. <br/>Still shivering, I knocked on the intimidating old door and waited. A few flashes of his hand wrapped around my throat come back to me causing me to sigh shakily. <br/>The door opens. “You’re early.” Russia says in a soft voice. <br/>“The traffic was really good.” I answer, avoiding his eyes. <br/>“Hmm. . . Well, there is no use in standing outside.” He steps aside and gestures toward the inside of the house. Nervously I step in and look around. He closes the door and breathlessly walks over to the closest chair in the front room. His face is awfully pale, lips dry and cracked, eyes dark and sunken. <br/>“You wanted to meet with me alone?” I ask, breaking the silence. <br/>“Yes. . . I wanted to apologize. I know that my reaction was unwarranted, and I am sorry that I allowed myself to act so violently. It is true that I have a small concern about national security but the root of my actions stemmed from jealousy. . . It’s hard for me to see you be so happy with another person, not that that excuses my actions at all, but I think you should know how I feel.” His voice is soft and weak, cracking every now and again. <br/>“I forgive you.” I say, matching the softness in his voice. He looks up at me, eyes tired, body weak. <br/>“I figured you would say as much, you’ve always been a forgiving man. But I’m not sure if I could ever forgive myself for the things I’ve done. . . I’ve done so much wrong in my life I’m overwhelmed by it all.” <br/>I sit down on the small couch in the room, unsure of what to say. We sit in silence for a while, his labored breathing filling the room. <br/>“We’ve all done horrible things,” I start, “especially me. It’ll take a while but we will all heal from this.” <br/>He gives me a hopeful look before coughing and drawing in a shaky breath. <br/>“I appreciate you coming all this way to speak with me. I wanted to say this to you in person. . . Obviously my physical body is not well enough to make the trip out to Germany.”<br/>“You weren’t this ill the last time I saw you. When did this start?” I ask, getting up from the couch and walking over to him. <br/>“Two days ago. . . Please don’t do this, don’t care about me after I did that to you.” He says, gesturing to my neck. <br/>“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, it won’t change the way I feel.” <br/>“I don’t deserve you, I never will. . . My love for you is stronger than my selfishness, that North American nation will be so good to you.” <br/>I bite my lip and cast my eyes down. That’s when I notice how much his hands are shaking and the blue tint to his nails. The way I feel about him is hard to describe. I’m terrified of him but also care so much about him. We used to be friends before the world wars, before his revolution. He helped me handle the loss of Holy Rome better by offering what he had learned when he lost the Byzantine Empire. He saved me from Sweden before he could completely force himself on me. He knew how much I liked books and would constantly gift them to me. He saw how much I liked to write and would send me beautiful journals at the beginning of every year from 1815 to 1917. We were such good friends before the world wars. And I still like to think of him as he was before all this. He frightens me but I’m still drawn to him. I just wish I knew how to help him. Knew how to stop his pain. Watching him die like Holy Rome fills me with sorrow. I feel just as helpless as I did then. <br/>“I’m going to call Ukraine.” I say as I notice the blue color spreading on his lips. Rushing over to the kitchen I take the phone off the wall and dial her number. It rings four times.<br/>“Natasha speaking.” Belarus answers the phone. <br/>“Natasha I’m in Russia’s house. Something is happening and I need you and Ukraine to get here as fast as you can. He’s having trouble breathing.” <br/>“We’re on our way.” She says in a serious voice, hanging up soon after. I hang the phone back up on the wall before going back to the front room. I kneel beside Russia and take his hand. His eyes are closed and his breathing is more of a wheeze, maybe a gasp. I worry that Ukraine and Belarus might not make it in time, but they soon arrive. <br/>“What happened?” Ukraine asks, rushing over to us. <br/>“I don’t know, he was doing pretty bad when I got here and just started getting worse.” <br/>“Alright. . . Help me get him to the guest room down the hall.” <br/>All three of us slowly help him onto the bed. I look around and remember how Lithuania would be locked in here for days on end. I push the memories away as I watch Ukraine take his hand. <br/>“Ivan? Can you hear me?” She asks. <br/>“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, is he going to be alright?” Natasha begins to freak out. I wrap an arm around her and she fully embraces me. “He’s going to be okay, right?” She asks into my chest. <br/>“I hope so.” <br/>“I’ll be fine. . . Just tired.” Russia answers weakly. Ukraine smiles sympathetically at him before turning to Belarus and me. <br/>“Gilbert, do you mind staying for another day? I’d like to get all of us together.” She asks. <br/>“Of course I can stay.” <br/>“Good. Do you mind helping Natasha to bed? She should relax.” <br/>“Of course.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 20th, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So he’s dying? Good. Now we can stop worrying about him.” Poland comments insensitively.<br/>“Felix.” Lithuania says dejectedly. <br/>Poland sighs and leans back into the couch. <br/>“I know, I’m sorry. Still working on it.” <br/>Lithuania smiles and puts a hand on his knee, eliciting a smile from the Polish man. <br/>“Clearly I have called you all here to tell you that the end is imminent. It should only be a couple of days now. . . What the human leaders decide to do after the fall will determine whether or not Russia will come back to us. There is a possibility that he will die permanently and be replaced with something else. We should all prepare ourselves.” Ukraine announces. A heavy silence hangs in the room until Poland breaks it by standing up abruptly. <br/>“Really? Like, I don’t mean to be rude to your feelings or whatever, but honestly? This guy gets your sympathy? After everything he’s done to us, you feel sad?” He addresses the room. <br/>“He’s like a brother to me, Felix.” Ukraine says softly. <br/>“Do brothers beat and rape their sisters?” She falls quiet, looking down at the floor. “That’s what I thought. This is ridiculous.” Poland leaves the house in a huff. I look at Lithuania who sighs sadly. <br/>“I’ll talk to him.” I offer, leaving the house before any of them can protest. I see Poland standing on the porch, lighting a cigarette. <br/>“Before you say anything Toris, I can’t believe that-” he turns and looks at me, stopping mid-sentence, “oh, it’s you. Fan-fucking-tastic.” <br/>“I wish we could get along better.” I say, leaning against the wall near the front door. He turns around and puts a hand on his hip. <br/>“We’ve hated each other since the beginning of our existences, why do you want to get along now all of a sudden?” <br/>“Because we’ve been through this for sixty years.” I say, gesturing to the house. “We shared a room for a decade of that, and I thought we got closer. But after the wall came down it seems you hate me just as much as you did in the forties.” <br/>He takes a long drag and slowly blows out the smoke. <br/>“Yeah, sure, totally, we got closer when I was forced to live like that with you. You were the only person I could talk to so I opened up. It was incredibly lonely, and very hard on me, and you were just as desperate. It doesn’t mean I like you, or want to be your friend or whatever.” <br/>“It didn’t mean anything to you?” I try. <br/>“Oh, did you catch feelings for me?” He teases cruelly. “Whore.” He says under his breath. <br/>“I’m just trying to extend an olive branch here, I don’t need your forgiveness nor your friendship. I can live perfectly fine without them.” <br/>“So why do you keep trying?” <br/>“Because it’ll make this easier, especially on you. Lithuania looked so dis-”<br/>“Don’t talk about him like you know him. I know full well what he thinks about my attitude and I don’t care. . . I just. . . Like, it’s so hard living with the memories of what you did to me. And to top it all off, after everything that happened, I got to be stuck here for sixty years. I didn’t do anything to you or Russia, so why do you both keep trying to erase me?” <br/>I’ve hit it, how he truly feels. I sigh deeply and look off to the horizon. <br/>“I understand how you feel, and I’m so sorry for my actions. I have no excuse, I should have known better, but I didn’t care. Of course, sorry will never be enough and I don’t expect it to be. I would like your forgiveness, but I’m not going to demand it or force it out of you. And no matter what you say now, I know that we had a connection. I know that you are torn between forgiving me and hating me, remembering the man I was and seeing the man I am today. . .” <br/>His face slowly softens and he takes another drag. <br/>“Fine,” he sighs the smoke out, “I did realize that I liked you, and that you were so different from the person I remembered in the Second World War. And it did eat me up inside. . . I know you’ve changed, but the scars still mark my body. . . Thank you for speaking with me, you’ve given me some things to think about.” <br/>I nod, fearful that if I say anything more I might ruin this moment. He finishes up the cigarette and walks inside. I follow him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 21st, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” I ask Ukraine. She smiles and nods. <br/>“I will be. Thank you for caring so much, Gilbert. You should enjoy your time, you deserve it.” I nod and look out the window. Germany is not here quite yet, so I decide to go to Russia’s room. His breathing is still labored, but at least he isn’t blue anymore. <br/>He opens his eyes and looks at me, tired eyes reminding me of Holy Rome on his deathbed. I kneel beside him and take his hand. <br/>“I’m leaving in a few minutes. . . I’ll come visit you again after the holiday.” <br/>He squeezes my hand and I smile lightly. <br/>“I’ll be looking forward to it.” His voice is soft and weak, as expected. <br/>Ukraine opens the door and I look at her. <br/>“He’s here.” She says. I nod before kissing the top of Russia’s hand and standing up to leave. <br/>“I’ll visit you both on the 26th.” I say as she walks me to the front door. <br/>“Thank you. I’ll save the holiday meal until then so there will at least be three of us to celebrate.” I smile at her and she opens the door. “See you soon.” <br/>I walk out of the house and down the old wooden steps. As I open the passenger side door I look back at the old house. Something doesn’t feel right. A weight settles on my chest, warning me. <br/>“How is he?” Germany asks once I’m in the car. <br/>“A little better. Hopefully by the time I return he will be well enough to leave the bed.” <br/>As we drive away I just keep thinking. <br/>. . . There won’t be a next time. . . Will there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. I Love You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Remember when Germany said if Canada hurt Prussia he'd kill him? I suppose Canada couldn't hide what was happening forever. He now must face the consequences of his decisions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunday, December 22nd, 1991 : 3 days until Christmas</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As I woke up I could feel this amazing warmth, Canada curled up against me, my arm over him. The tips of my fingers easily wander about the smooth skin on his stomach, trailing down to the top of his boxers, playing with the skin there. He shifts a bit in my arms, pressing his backside firmly against my hips. I wish we could stay in bed all day. <br/>I lightly trace my fingers back up his stomach and across his ribs, feeling every inch of skin he has to offer. He flinches when I pass his ribs again and I smile. <br/>“Sorry, did I wake you?” I ask softly. <br/>“Yes, but I don’t mind, as long as you stop tickling me.” <br/>“Hmm like this?” I tease, giving his ribs a firm squeeze. He gasps and flinches again. <br/>“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He says, laughter in his voice. <br/>“Is that a threat?” I ask with amusement, squeezing his side again. He flinches and laughs, causing me to smile. His laughter is so beautiful, like a delicate song. <br/>My antics are stopped when he grabs my wrists and straddles me, pinning them above my head. <br/>“Is this okay?” He asks me. A weird feeling rushes through my body and I immediately feel incredibly vulnerable. Those purple eyes, the grip on my wrists. I can practically feel how he gets heavier and heavier on my hips as I think about Russia doing this to me. His body was so much larger than mine. He had 23 centimeters (9 in) on me, 50 kilograms (110 Ibs) heavier. I could never match him physically, he held me down with ease, smirked as I struggled under his weight. <br/>“It’s adorable how red you get when you try so hard.” Russia said in a patronizing tone. I was out of breath, no choice but to calm down and accept what was happening. <br/>I close my eyes and push the memory away. When I open them again, Canada is staring down at me with a concerned look. <br/>“Yes, I’m fine.” I say softly, shifting underneath him. <br/>“You seem nervous.” <br/>“Only because it’s you sitting on me, I’m anticipating what you’re going to do.” <br/>He gives me a sultry look before leaning down and placing soft kisses on my jaw. My body relaxes into the bed as I revel in the feeling of those lips tracing pleasurable points on my skin. He avoids my neck but the delicate feel of him kissing my collar bone and chest is just as good. After a few moments of his teasing he comes back up to my jaw and places a gentle kiss there before meeting my eyes. <br/>“What do you prefer?” He asks softly. <br/>“I normally receive.” He lifts an eyebrow and I smile. “And you?” <br/>“I tend to bottom. . .” <br/>“Seems we are at a crossroads.” <br/>“It would seem,” he says with a hint of laughter, “though I am not displeased with the idea of switching.” <br/>“It’s settled then.” <br/>He giggles a bit before placing a soft kiss on my cheek. I take one of my pillows and place it under my hips as he takes a small bottle of lubricant out of my nightstand. <br/>“How can I go about this to cause the least amount of pain?” He asks. I smile at him and take one of his hands in mine. <br/>“It’s always painful at first, I’m not sure we can avoid that. But it’s okay, just go slow.” <br/>What makes this moment particularly emotional for me is that I’ve never been asked that before. To see how much he cares about me, in all aspects, is truly warming to see. The discomfort is there, but minimal compared to everything else in this moment. Him being so close to me is such a wonderful feeling. <br/>“Oh, my God.” He whispers in French, dirty blonde hair falling mostly to his right side and acting almost like a curtain. He moves slowly and it’s - again I find myself unable to use words. My hands grip the sheets as he hits that spot dead on. <br/>“Please, go faster.” I ask in German, decently confident he’ll understand me. He obliges me and all I can see are stars. I know the walls are thin so I bring my left hand to my mouth and bite it to keep quiet. He’s letting all of his emotion show on his face and it’s incredibly erotic to see.<br/>“How close are you?” Mmmm, I can hear the desperation in his voice. <br/>“Almost.” I manage quietly. <br/>He reaches in between us and grips me, pumping in time with the rhythm he’s setting. <br/>“Oh, fuck.” I whisper, feeling myself approach the edge quickly. <br/>He leans down only slightly to kiss my cheek before whispering, “come for me.” Well, how could one refuse such a tempting command? He covers my mouth as I go over, unable to help the moan that leaves me. I hardly notice him pull out before he joins me in ecstasy. Oh those beautiful eyebrows knitted together in pleasure as he bites his lip. I’m going to burn that image into my mind. We lie on the bed for a while, attempting to catch our breaths. <br/>“You don’t think anyone heard us, do you?” He asks. <br/>“I’m not sure. These walls are notoriously thin.” <br/>“Well let’s pray nobody got a show.” He says with laughter in his voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>December 23rd, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I stretch a bit and throw a glance at the digital clock on my dresser. 2:56 am. <br/>Canada isn’t in bed with me so I look toward the bathroom door to see if the light is on. It is not. Perhaps he went to the kitchen to grab some water. I nestle back into my pillow, closing my eyes with full intention to fall back asleep. That is until I hear a large bang come from upstairs. I sit upright, eyebrows furrowed. What is going on? <br/>I quickly put some pants on before walking up the stairs and exiting the basement. The lights from the kitchen pour down the hallway and blind my eyes a bit. <br/>“I know it looks bad, but please, believe me when I say my intentions have never been malignant.” Canada’s distressed voice only adds to my confusion, but the light is messing with me so much I can’t manage to open my eyes and walk down the hall. <br/>“If you are innocent, why are you scared?” My eyes snap open at the sound of Germany’s voice. Watery eyes or not I have to mitigate the situation. <br/>“Because you can be a very frightening man.” <br/>“You haven’t seen the worst of it.” <br/>“What is going on here?” I ask quickly, stopping Germany from punching a flinching Canada. The latter’s eyes look at me with what I can only describe as utter fear. I’ve only ever seen that look on Canada’s face once before. I couldn’t stand it then I can’t stand it now. <br/>“Read that.” Germany says, gesturing to some paper on the counter. Confused, I walk over to the counter and begin to read the contents of the paper. Slowly my heart sinks. <br/>“What is this?” I ask softly. <br/>“It’s from my government concerning him and his ill-intentions.” Germany answers, throwing a look at Canada that makes him cower slightly. “I should have never allowed you near us. I knew something was off about you.” <br/>“I’ve never had ill-intentions, please believe me when I say this. I would never put you or Prussia in harm's way. Ever.” <br/>Germany takes a few steps toward Canada, causing the latter to back himself into the counter. <br/>“Germany,” I say, causing him to stop, “it’s alright. I’ll talk to him.”  I look up at Canada and he looks down. Hm. <br/>“Sit down.” I tell Canada as I shut the door to the basement behind us. He sits on the bed and I cross my arms. He’s looking down at the floor, body tense. “Look at me.” Slowly his eyes find mine. I hold up the letter and narrow my eyes slightly. “Is this true?” <br/>“No.” <br/>“Do not lie to me.” <br/>“I’m not lying.” <br/>“Why would our government send this to us if it was false? Or if they did not have a good reason to believe it was true?” <br/>“I don’t know. . .” His voice is truly pathetic. <br/>“Well? Am I a threat? Did you get all the intelligence you wanted from me?” <br/>“Gilbert I-”<br/>“What’s sad about this is that I defended you when Russia told me this was happening.” <br/>“You were not wrong, I did not offer to help you just to gain something from you. All I ever wanted to do was to help you. When I learned that you were still alive you could not imagine the joy and hope that filled my heart. I’ve never had this connection with somebody before, ever. Why would I throw it all away on some off chance for information about Russia?” <br/>“Do you have any idea how much I’ve told you? I trusted you and opened up, I got this for defending you.” I say gesturing to my neck. “And now that information will be used to destroy him.” <br/>“I never told anybody anything, I-” He gets a bit choked up and pauses. <br/>“If you are trying to find a way to talk yourself out of this you can’t. I suggest you tell me the truth.” <br/>“I am.” <br/>“Matthew!” I haven’t raised my voice like that in some time. He jumps and I resist the urge to apologize. Watching him fight so hard not to start crying is really pulling on my heart. I decide taking a kinder approach as I set the papers down on the dresser and kneel down before him. He looks at me as I put a hand on his knee. As our eyes meet I feel a familiar pull and his eyes widen. <br/>I see a lot. There is so much here. He’s never good enough. No matter how hard Matthew tries he will never be good enough. America is so much better, he has charisma, confidence, everything. Canada is the weak, decadent, emotional one. The one that reminds England too much of France. I see the hold England still has over him, that grip that Canada just can’t shake. He wants desperately to please, to be seen, allows himself to be walked over just for a chance to hear, see, feel some type of affection. <br/>I see myself, the person he has felt so strongly for since. . . Oh my God, since the first time we met in the gardens of Versailles. His feelings only growing stronger during the American Revolution, growing more still after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles. Setting on fire after the Second World War. He’s so incredibly upset because he did not do what I think he did. He was asked to care for me because he truly wanted to help, but when the other Western nations began to grow worried they asked him to do reconnaissance. He refused at first, but then thought it would be a good way to ensure I was protected. He would remain tight lipped about everything, only reporting that I said nothing of importance, no matter what I actually said, so that the others would not be suspicious of me. <br/>I tear my eyes away from his and blink a few times. <br/>“Wh-what just happened?” He asks, tears falling down his cheeks. I wipe them away and give him a sympathetic look. <br/>“I know that you didn’t do it. I’m sorry I doubted you.” <br/>“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I should have, when England was asking me, but I cannot assert myself with him.”<br/>“I know.” I say softly, standing up so I can sit next to him on the bed and pull him against my chest. “I wish he wouldn’t treat you the way he does. You deserve so much more than that.” <br/>“How do you know?” He asks with a cute sniffle. <br/>“Let’s just say I’m very intuitive.” <br/>He smiles and just looks too beautiful for me not to kiss him. I knew when I met him in the gardens of Versailles over two hundred years ago he might have had a crush on me. But I never knew how much he felt for me and for how long. . . As I think about it now, I may actually love him myself. Holy shit. I break the kiss and he bites his lip. <br/>“. . . I love you.” His eyes widen and he lets out a breath. <br/>“I love you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, it took me a long time to write this chapter. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm one hundo p with it but it'll do for now. Y'all notice how ominously low that countdown is getting? Buckle up. These last few chapters are gonna take us for one heck of a ride.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. There's Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Germany and Prussia have a heart to heart as they discuss the events of the night previous. Prussia has a dream that leaves him feeling uneasy but brushes it aside as nothing. The next morning Canada and Prussia talk about their future, but the sand in the hourglass has all fallen. Warnings: See Tags.<br/>P.S. Chapter 17 was missing a day!! December 10th never made it on to the document I posted! So, if you would like to see what was added December 10th is the last day on Chapter 17!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tuesday, December 24th, 1991: 1 day until Christmas</p><p> </p><p>He used to do it a lot as a kid. If I ever couldn’t find him within his room or somewhere in the house, I knew he was sitting outside. He started doing it when he was around physically six or seven - whenever he felt strongly about something he’d go outside, sit somewhere quiet, and stare. Holy Rome used to do it. . . I’m not sure where Germany learned it from, obviously the two never met, but it fills me with nostalgia every time I see him like that. Today is no different.<br/>
The sun hasn’t even begun to come up as I sit next to him in the grass in the backyard. We sit in silence for a long while before he speaks up.<br/>
“How do you feel about last night?”<br/>
“. . . I was quite hurt to be honest. But Canada and I talked through it and I understand why he remained silent. Not that I agree with that choice, but I know why he made it.”<br/>
“If he truly does care for you why not tell you? I would die for you - I have died for you.”<br/>
“It’s complicated for him. His childhood was not like yours, or even mine, it was crushing for his self-worth and identity. I raised you to be proud of who you were and where you came from, to be strong and to fight. He was raised to be silent and obedient, to disappear whenever he was not needed for something. . . so, it was hard for him to break from that, even when he knew it could hurt someone he cared about.”<br/>
Germany sighs and looks down. The silence is heavy, not even a bird makes a sound, no wind to rustle the leaves.<br/>
“Do you love him?” I know the answer to his question but hesitate nonetheless.<br/>
“Yes.”<br/>
He takes a deep breath and blinks a few times, eyes growing moist. It hurts me to see him so hurt, the last thing I want to cause him is pain. I’m not sure what I could even say to help the situation. Do I justify how I feel about Canada? Do I tell him how much he means to me? Would that even help?<br/>
“Eighty years ago you told me that you would never fall in love again. . . I’m not upset that you did, but I guess if I knew it was possible I would have gone about things differently. Even then would it have mattered?”<br/>
“. . . I don’t know. . . I’m so sorry Ludwig that I have never properly addressed this. It’s not that you are lacking in some way, it’s not you at all. I never wanted to do to you what Holy Rome did to me. I didn’t want to mix a romantic relationship with one that had me in an authoritative role over you.”<br/>
He nods a bit before turning and meeting my eyes.<br/>
“I’m glad that you are happy now, that’s all that matters to me. . . I’m just not sure if I trust Canada. But I trust your judgement, you’ve always been good at knowing what to do.” I smile lightly while placing a comforting hand on his back. Silence hangs between us for a few moments as the sun slowly begins to peak over the horizon. “Italy called me.”<br/>
“She did?”<br/>
“Yeah. . . she apologized for leaving the way she did, and that the last thing she wanted to do was make me feel like. . . like I never changed. Asked if I wanted to try again.”<br/>
“What did you say?”<br/>
“I asked for some time to think about it. . . but I think I’m going to call her and tell her I’m willing to try again. I realize now that I can love more than one person. I love you but I also want to be with her.”<br/>
His words make me feel quite a bit better, I’m ecstatic that Italy reached out to him. I’m also glad that his feelings for me will not cause him to spiral here alone. While I’m a bit lost in thought he moves to face me better and kisses me much to my surprise. Well, I mean, he’s always been forward about this if memory serves. He pulls away and smiles lightly.<br/>
“Thank you for speaking with me.”<br/>
Speechless I watch him stand and walk back into the house. I think I handled that well. </p><p> </p><p>-Same day, fifteen hours later-</p><p> </p><p>Germany’s intense glare softens as he sighs out.<br/>
“I’m sorry for being so violent toward you.”<br/>
“It’s alright,” Canada begins, “you have every right to be protective over Gilbert. I was hoping to keep all of this under wraps, I didn’t want to cause any drama or make either of you feel like we didn’t trust you.”<br/>
“Well they clearly don’t. Even after all this time.” Germany pinches the bridges of his nose and I place a comforting hand on his back. “The thing I don’t get is that France was the one to send this to my government.”<br/>
“France? Why would she do that?” Canada asks himself.<br/>
“I’m not sure. When I asked her about it she said she had no idea what was in the envelope she received, but it had instructions to send to me. . . If I had to guess I would point to Russia. I would have never accepted anything from him so it makes sense that he would use France to get me to look at it.”<br/>
“I see.” Canada says softly.<br/>
“Either way,” I begin, “it’s all over now.” I put a hand on my forehead as a wave of dizziness hits me.<br/>
“Thankfully.” Germany comments.<br/>
“It’s getting late.” Canada says, probably picking up on my faint expression. Germany looks to the clock before looking at me.<br/>
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He says before walking away from us. Canada wraps an arm around my waist and I lean into him.<br/>
“Are you feeling okay?” He asks.<br/>
“Just a little light headed.”<br/>
“Alright, let’s lay down.”<br/>
He helps me walk to the basement and down the steps, to my bed. I want to reach out and pull him down on the bed with me but I find myself being bombarded with fatigue and darkness.<br/>
“You should relax.” I say softly, placing my hands on Russia’s tense shoulders. He leans back in the chair, taking his reading glasses off and setting them on the desk before him.<br/>
“I can’t. Not with all this to go through and America on me at every moment.”<br/>
“I understand, but being so tense and exhausted is not going to help you.” My hands begin working at muscles that refuse to soften. He gives a hum of approval as they begin to give way. “You should come to bed.”<br/>
“I want to.”<br/>
“So do so.”<br/>
“I can’t. . . Did you know that America doesn’t sleep? Like literally, he doesn’t need it.”<br/>
“That’s just propaganda.” I try.<br/>
“Gilbert I’m being serious,” He looks up and meets my eyes, “the man doesn’t sleep. He just runs circles around me.”<br/>
“Well, whether he needs to sleep or not, you do. And trying to do what he does is going to kill you.”<br/>
“. . . I know. . . In more ways than you can possibly mean.”<br/>
“I only meant it in one way. You need to sleep.” He sighs and puts his glasses back on, focus returning to the papers before him. I stand behind him, working at the knots in his shoulders and upper back. I wish there was some way I could help him, but I’m at a loss. The name of the game has changed quite a bit since I was a kingdom, can’t go in cavalry a-blazing. “Ivan. You have to take care of yourself.”<br/>
“I know.” He takes his reading glasses off again and I know that this time they will stay off. “I just can’t fight this sinking feeling that my best will never be able to match his worst.”<br/>
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Russia. You have done plenty amazing things that either took him years to copy or he has yet to even accomplish. I mean, he can’t even launch rockets in cold weather.” Russia smiles a bit and so do I.<br/>
“That is true. . . Thank you, Gilbert.” He places a hand on mine, “I’m glad you’re here. . . But you can leave if you want.”<br/>
“I want to be here. You’re not forcing me to stay.”<br/>
“You say that but I have a hard time believing you don’t want to see them at all. As much as I despise the man, Germany would be elated to see you again.”<br/>
My smile softens at the mention of him. I’m sure he would be, and I would be too. But I’m nervous to go back. What would they think of me? I’ve changed, I’m not that Prussia that they all remember. There is a piece of Russia in me that will always be there, it’s just a part of who I am now.<br/>
“In due time.” I sigh out.<br/>
He stands up from the desk and allows me to lead him to his bedroom. With just us in the house we can act like this without fear of getting caught. We’ve been keeping our romance private.<br/>
“This feels good.” He says while laying down on the bed.<br/>
“I told you. You need to rest.”<br/>
“And you’re right. As usual.” He jokes.<br/>
“Of course, why else would you keep me around.” He smiles and pulls me into an embrace.<br/>
I open my eyes and find myself in a dark room, a digital clock faintly glowing in the corner. The figure asleep next to me is much too small to be Russia and forces me to orient myself in the current reality. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.<br/>
“Are you okay?” I hear Canada ask softly as he turns over to look at me.<br/>
“. . . I have this weird feeling.”<br/>
“Weird how?” He sits up and puts a hand on my back.<br/>
“I’m unsettled. . . Like there is this daunting feeling in my chest that I can’t shake. . . Something isn’t right.”<br/>
“Was it a dream?”<br/>
“. . . I think so. I don’t know, I’ll be fine, it was just weird.” He squeezes my arm affectionately and I feel comforted. </p><p> </p><p>December 25th, 1991 : Christmas day, the death of the Soviet Union</p><p> </p><p>“How do you feel about going back?” Matthew asks as he leans against the wall near the foot of the stairs. I place the last article of clothing into my bag and zip it up before sighing and sitting on the bed.<br/>
“I’m excited to see Ukraine, not sure what to expect from Russia. It’ll only be for a couple of days, so I’m not too worried about something awful happening.”<br/>
He nods and walks over to me, sitting beside me on the bed.<br/>
“I’ll only be in Europe for two more days after you come back. You could come with me if you’d like.”<br/>
“I would like that.”  He smiles and puts his hand on my knee.<br/>
“I was hoping you would say that.” His hand begins to caress my knee before slowly sliding up my thigh. I smile as I stop the movement of his hand with mine.<br/>
“For someone who vehemently denies likeness to France you sure are amorous.” He blushes a bit and looks away.<br/>
“Sorry, I know it can be a little much.”<br/>
“I don’t mind, not one bit, I just never knew you had this side to you I guess. I didn’t really see it in the forties.”<br/>
“I was trying to be professional in the forties, I was horrified by the prospect of someone finding out. Not that I regretted it, I’d do it again.” He is just too cute, these butterflies in my stomach that go crazy every time he smiles like that never seem to die. “I’ve never felt this way for anyone before. My past relationships have always been one-sided or unhealthy. . . this is nice.”<br/>
“This is nice.” I say softly before placing a hand on his cheek and connecting our lips. He pulls me closer to him as he shifts to lay back on the bed with me straddling him. I trace soft kisses down his jaw and neck before resting my head against his chest. He places a gentle hand on my back and softly rubs my back.<br/>
“Hmm, you’re going to put me to sleep.” I say, causing him to laugh.<br/>
“Good. Then I can keep you like this for hours.” I try to fight the obnoxious smile that wants to mark my face as an intense feeling of content and joy fill my chest. God I haven’t been this giddy about someone since I was a young teenager. “How would you feel about getting a place in the city rather than living in that secluded house?” He asks.<br/>
“The city? Do you not hate being around others?”<br/>
“I never used to. . . I don’t know, something about you makes me want to. I have this thought of us living in a warm place in Ottawa, maybe there’s a dog.”<br/>
“That sounds perfect,” I say with a bit of laughter, “I’ve never been to your capital.”<br/>
“It’s quite nice, if I may brag.”<br/>
“We’d be a lot closer to America.”<br/>
“We would. . . I think I want to get closer to him. He’s been trying to get closer to me but I just keep shutting him out.”<br/>
“You’re getting me all excited about the future and I’m blushing, how dare you.” I joke. He laughs as I sigh contentedly. Although, that content feeling is replaced with curiosity as I feel something press into my stomach. I shift a bit and raise an eyebrow. “Interesting.” I comment.<br/>
“It is the inevitable consequence of you laying on top of me. It actually happens pretty much anytime you touch me, and now I see why you compared me to France.”<br/>
“No worries, I remember what it was like to be young.”<br/>
“You are young.” He laughs.<br/>
“I look young, but my mind and body no longer act young.” I sit up, straddling his hips properly. He looks up at me with those soft purple eyes, lips slightly parted. He must know what he does, there is no way he pulls that expression without knowing what it does. I lean forward and place a few kisses along his neck, causing him to arch up into me. However before we get too carried away I move off of him.<br/>
“Hmm,” he moans softly, “you can’t do that to me then just leave.” He whines. I smirk and look at the clock.<br/>
“Dinner is going to be ready soon.”<br/>
“My appetite can only be satisfied by you.”<br/>
I would immediately acquiesce to him if it weren’t for the wave of dizziness that hits me, causing me to place a hand on the dresser to support myself.<br/>
“Come now. Dessert is always after dinner.”<br/>
He smiles and gets up from the bed. I follow him up the stairs however only make it into the hallway before feeling extremely light headed and faint. He turns to look at me, cocking his head to the side a bit.<br/>
“Are you alright?” He asks.<br/>
“Um, yeah I just,” I feel like the words I want to say are being ripped from me before I can even think of them, “sorry, I’m feeling faint.”<br/>
“Hmm, maybe you should lie down for awhile. This has been a rather stimulating week.” He suggests. I nod, thinking harder than I normally do to understand the English words. And as I try to turn around, the world slips out from under me, causing him to catch me in his arms. My body feels heavy and refuses to listen to what I want it to do, moving not of my own volition. At some point I think I’m on the floor, maybe I heard Canada yell something, the sensations I feel are hard to explain and it frightens me. The only thing I know for sure is the searing headache that attacks me.<br/>
As I open my eyes again I see Canada and Germany on the floor next me, looking down at me with worried expressions.<br/>
“Gilbert? Can you answer some questions for me?” Matthew asks, but I’m not entirely sure what he said.<br/>
“What?” I try asking, but I didn’t hear myself say that. I feel him take my wrist into his hands and feel for my pulse.<br/>
“Frances, get some water and a cloth.” He says, but it sounds so foreign to me. They speak over me but I’m not fully aware of what is happening around me, to me. After what feels like hours of this strange limbo I come back to my senses, looking up at Germany and Canada as they look down at me. Matthew wipes a warm washcloth under my nose and I notice blood on it.<br/>
“Gilbert?” Germany calls to me. I wrap my hand around his wrist. There is a lot I want to say, to both of them, but I can’t muster it.<br/>
“It’s going to be okay.” Is all I can manage, before an overwhelming exhaustion crashes into me. I feel Germany take my hand and Canada place his on my chest. Their voices, Canada’s compressions, Germany’s hand in mine, feels a million kilometers away. Despite this an amazing feeling of relief and serenity wash over me, as my vision leaves me. I can’t feel anymore, their hands, the ground, I have no sensation. The only thing I can register are their voices. But eventually I lose that too.<br/>
There’s nothing. . .<br/>
. . .<br/>
. . .</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The German Noble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Met with silence from Prussia's POV, the story shifts to be narrated by Canada. One month after the last chapter Canada is still not taking it very well. He moves through the next couple of months trying to cope in his own way - mostly with America and alcohol - until one May night he gets a strange phone call.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>January 26th, 1992 </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I cannot run anymore.<br/>
With my back to a large tree I attempt to catch my breath, gripping my chest as it burns. This would be the perfect time to have a horse, but alas. She was killed in the musket fire. I’d mourn her death if I didn’t think my own was imminent. Yet even with that bit of knowledge I cannot make my legs move anymore. My body has absolutely no energy left, I could not possibly force myself to move.<br/>
A few moments pass and my breath returns to me. My muscles scream at me as I begin to walk. Diligently I scan the forest as I move through it. I’m close to New York, if I can just make it across the line I’d be out of enemy territory. I’m so close.<br/>
I collapse on the forest floor, hardly able to catch any air. Hell, I’d drag myself if I could, I’m hardly a mile away from the border. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted in my life, closing my eyes never felt so good. This is dangerous, deadly even, but I can’t.<br/>
The sound of a horse’s hooves hitting the soft foliage hits me and I draw a choked breath. I’m done for. I’m wearing the wrong colors, I have no strength left, I-<br/>
“You’ve out done yourself.” I don’t even open my eyes, too tired to register the voice. He dismounts, boots hitting the ground. I manage to move my eyelids and immediately my heart throbs in my chest. I never expected that Prussia would be the one to find me. He kneels down next to me and reaches toward me. I try pushing him away but it’s laughable.<br/>
“Don’t move. Rest for now.” He says in French, holding my arms down. I couldn’t be happier to obey. “You’re wounded.” Am I?<br/>
I look down at my body and sure enough blood has seeped through my coat. When did I get that?<br/>
“Damnit.” I say under my breath. He chuckles a bit and butterflies release into my stomach.<br/>
“It’s not that bad, you’ll live.” His hands brush across my belly and sides as he moves my coat aside and lifts my shirt. I feel a blush creep onto my face as he places a hand on my stomach while cleaning the wound.<br/>
“Why are you helping me? Aren’t you supposed to kill me?” I ask.<br/>
“And why would I do that?”<br/>
“. . . we’re fighting on different sides.”<br/>
“You are too cute,” he puts my shirt back down and looks up at me, “I’m supposed to capture you, not kill you. You think I would have agreed to the latter?” He lifts an eyebrow and I’m speechless.<br/>
“I-I don’t know what you would have agreed to.” I manage. He makes like he is going to pick me up and I struggle a bit, kicking his arm away.<br/>
“I do not want to be rough with you Canada but I will be if you keep fighting. I know you’re tired.” He makes to try again and once more I fight. He sighs and makes eye contact with me, those beautiful red eyes make me feel some type of way but I can’t let him have me. I have to get to New York.<br/>
“It doesn’t matter how tired I am, I will fight till my dying breath.”<br/>
“I see that. Admirable, if ill-advised.” He grips my arm with a lot more force than he has been using and forces my wrists to either side of me above my head. My muscles shake as I try to fight to no avail. His proximity and this position make my stomach do flips.<br/>
“Are you happy with this outcome.” He teases.<br/>
“I am happy with none of the outcomes.” He smiles before finally picking me up.<br/>
“Well, I’ll let you choose the outcome of how you ride the horse. I can either place you at the end draped over her, or you could be upright behind me. Clearly the latter option would be the most comfortable but only if you promise not to try anything.”<br/>
“I’d rather do neither.”<br/>
“Don’t make me choose for you.” I sigh.<br/>
“. . . upright.”<br/>
Hesitantly I wrap my arms around his waist as we begin riding away from the New York border. I’ve never been so close to him, never touched him like this. If we weren’t fighting a war maybe I’d let myself enjoy this a lot more. But I’m too tired to think about all that. I just close my eyes and burn into my mind what it feels like to hold him.<br/>
I open my eyes and turn to my side. The motivation to get up and do something today has dissipated. I can’t stop thinking about him. . . When I wake up there are a few blissful moments when my brain hasn’t quite registered that he’s gone, and I can’t wait to get up and find him sitting in the living room. But then the realization kicks in, and all the hope and excitement for the day drains away from me and I can’t leave my bed.<br/>
I just wish I could stop thinking about it. Thinking about him falling, the seizure, the bleeding, how his breath stopped. My hands remember the feeling of his ribs breaking under the pressure of my compressions, God why can I not stop thinking about it?<br/>
I sit up and run a hand through my hair, staring down at the bed. I’ve seen some horrible things in my life; seen all the horrible things that can happen to the human body during war, and yet this. . . this bothers me almost as much as seeing all that mutilation as a doctor during the Second World War.<br/>
Maybe it’s because I love him. Because there was nothing I could do. I had no idea what was happening to him, how to stop it, how to keep him from slipping away.<br/>
I cannot forget that tearful look Germany gave me when I stopped giving compressions. That look begged me for answers, trusted that if anyone were to bring him back it would be and I let him down.<br/>
It’s been a month since that day. . . All the hope I had for it not being a final death has dissipated. Not even Russia has come back. They are both gone. And again. . . I’m alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>February 14th, 1992</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Canada. . . Matthew?. . .come on.” America pulls me up into a sitting position and my head swirls.<br/>
“Why must you?” I manage in a whisper.<br/>
“Because I care about you, and so does your government, and withering away is not an option.”<br/>
“But I want to. . . are you ever tired of living?”<br/>
“Don’t speak like that. Come on, get up, let’s take a shower.”<br/>
“America, please, just leave me alone.”<br/>
“No. If I did you would just lie here for who knows how long. I know that you’re not just going to snap out of this by the drop of a hat, but you need to get up and at least try.”<br/>
“I know. . .” I sigh and close my eyes. “I know, I’m sorry.”<br/>
“Come on.” He helps me onto my feet and for once I’m grateful for America’s pestering. I know that I shouldn’t be allowing myself to take this so hard but I cannot help it. I’ve always felt so alone in my life and to lose the person who made me feel less like that not once but twice really damaged me. He walks me into the bathroom and leans me against the wall so he can prepare the shower. I stare at nothing, off into space. He turns back to me and sighs.<br/>
“I never knew you felt so strongly for him.”<br/>
Of course you didn’t - is what I want to say - you don’t realize much about me.<br/>
“Yeah.” I say dejectedly.<br/>
“Did you start developing feelings for him while he was here?”<br/>
He shouldn’t have said that to me, I’m not in the mood to pretend I’m okay today.<br/>
“You are so blind, you know that?” I snap. His eyes widen, probably not expecting my mood to change so fast. “No. I’ve felt this way about him for longer than you could possibly imagine. But then again you’ve never paid attention to anything that wasn’t yourself.” Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh with him, but I can’t help it. France always used to say I never handled my emotions well. I just feel them so strongly, it drives me insane.<br/>
“I-. . .”<br/>
“Wow, speechless for once, save the date.”<br/>
“You know you can be a real ass sometimes. I’m just trying to help you, God forbid I try to talk to you.”<br/>
“I do not need your help.”<br/>
“Oh really? Is that why I’m constantly saving you?”<br/>
“Constantly saving me? That’s rich,” I laugh a bit, “saving me. . . I do not need saving. You’re two hundred years too late for that.”<br/>
“What are you talking about?”<br/>
“Of course you wouldn’t know.” My anger dies away as quickly as it came in favor of an intense wave of sadness. I take my glasses off and put them on the counter. Come on, Matthew, pull yourself together. Get a grip. “. . . fuck.” I say under my breath, trying to get in control of my emotions.<br/>
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean to upset you.” He says in a soft voice, approaching me and pulling me against his chest. Tears stream from my eyes against my wishes as he softly rubs my back. “I’m sorry that I don’t know. I will admit that I’m not the most intuitive person alive. But you have to know that I care a lot about you. You are the most important person to me.”<br/>
I pull away from him a bit and give him a peculiar look.<br/>
“Why?” His hand comes to my cheek and wipes a few tears away.<br/>
“Because you are. Ever since I first saw you I just felt like I needed to protect you. I wanted to make sure you were always safe. . . I guess I haven’t always done the best job, but-”<br/>
There he goes, speechless again. It only dons on me now how weird this is, my hands against his chest and his arm around me pulling me flush against him. Hm.<br/>
“It’s okay. . . you were just a child, as was I. I shouldn’t have expected you to know.” I say softly.<br/>
“He did something to you, didn’t he? It wasn’t just me, was it. . .” I nod my head and his jaw tightens.<br/>
“I should have known. Was it after I left the Empire?”<br/>
“It started a bit before but yes, mostly after you left.”<br/>
“I’m so sorry, Matthew.”<br/>
“It’s not your fault. . . Thank you for being here.” I say while putting my face against his shoulder once more. He holds me closer by tightening his arm around my waist and putting his hand in my hair. The moan that leaves me is involuntary and we both pull away from each other quickly.<br/>
“Uhh, I guess that’s something we have in common.” He manages, blush spreading on his face.<br/>
“Yeah, um, I’m sure the shower is warm now.”<br/>
“Yup. Okay. um, I’m going to be in the living room.”<br/>
“Alright.”<br/>
He leaves and I stifle a laugh at how awkward that was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>March 9th 1992</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A moan of discomfort leaves me as I put a hand on my forehead and slump down into my couch. America’s laugh rings through the kitchen.<br/>
“You had like, two glasses of wine! How are you this drunk already?” He laughs.<br/>
“Mmm,” I groan, “I do not usually drink. I’m what the kids call a light-weight.”<br/>
“Apparently so.” He says softly while entering the living room and placing a bowl of chips on the coffee table. “Eat something you’ll feel better.”<br/>
“Eating does not help alcohol leave the system, only time can-”<br/>
“Don’t get all doctor-y on me, it has a placebo effect.” I smile a bit, sitting up on the couch and reaching for a few chips. “So what do you wanna watch tonight? We still have two of the movies I brought.” He says while rummaging through a box of movies.<br/>
“Which ones are those?”<br/>
“I have. . . A Van Damme movie and, oh, Beauty and the Beast - it’s cute. Came out last year.”<br/>
I laugh a bit before eating another chip.<br/>
“What about Silence of the Lambs? I heard that one was good.”<br/>
“Geez Matt, what is up with you and dark things? You want me to sit here and watch a horror movie in the dark in this isolated cabin?”<br/>
“It only adds to the experience. You start to get that feeling like something is behind you, and even though you turn to look you will always have a behind you. You can never truly see everything in the room at once, something could-”<br/>
“Okay, okay, I’m putting in Beauty and the Beast so I can watch something that’ll take the trauma of what you just said away.” He says with a laugh.<br/>
He takes a few movies out of the box in order to find the desired one. I watch as he places the Secret of NIMH on the coffee table and a wave of sorrow passes through me. I remember when Gilbert and I watched that movie. . .<br/>
Oh, the way he smiled at the animation. . . There is still so much I wish I could have done with him. He was just starting to get well enough to begin going places and supporting himself. I wish he was still here. . . I wish this world was different. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>April 21st, 1992</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’ve always loved walking through the gardens. They make me feel like the most important thing in the world; walking through the garden of Eden. The fountains are mesmerizing, the flowers sticky sweet, even the delicate blossoms floating through the wind from the orange trees add to the majesty of it all. Ducklings swim through the lake, dragonflies play in the sky, and at night the paths are lit with lanterns and candles.<br/>
Mama doesn’t like when I walk through the gardens alone, but I like the solitude. It is the only moment where I can relax and let go of all the rules and etiquette we must follow day in and day out at court. Not to mention the best things happen to me while I’m alone in the gardens. Like, a few months ago now, when I met that visiting German noble who was as breathtaking as the gardens around me. I haven’t seen him since, but a small part of me always hopes to see him wondering about the orangerie.<br/>
I’ve had my fair share of flirting with the ladies at court, but never has anyone made me feel the way that man did when he just looked at me. I cringe at how I lost my ability to speak at first when I bumped into him, but I’m immediately soothed by the thought of his arms wrapped around me as he caught me. Those red eyes setting me ablaze, his raspy voice like music. He had to ask me twice if I was okay - that’s how caught up I was.<br/>
I sigh longingly as I watch the ducklings paddle around the fountain. What I would give to see that man again.<br/>
“Canada.” A strong, commanding voice says from behind me. I jump and stand up, startled. My eyes land on the Holy Roman Empire who smirks at me. “Sorry, did I startle you?”<br/>
“Just a bit.” I say, straightening out my jacket.<br/>
“Your mother has been looking for you. Negotiations are to begin after dinner and she wants you with her so you can see how these things go.”<br/>
“Must I?”<br/>
“Yes, you must. As boring as it may be you will learn a lot of important information and skills that will come in handy once you are older.”<br/>
“Oh, look at you,” Austria begins as he walks up to me, “sitting down in the dirt again. What am I to do with you.” He says, patting down my clothes.<br/>
“He is a boy, Roderich. Let him have his fun.” The Holy Roman Empire says with laughter in his voice. Austria scoffs.<br/>
“There are plenty of ways to have fun without getting dirt on one’s clothing.”<br/>
“There are, but only when the clothing is off.”<br/>
Austria covers my ears and I smile.<br/>
“Wolfgang! There is no need to speak so inappropriately around him, he doesn’t need these ideas planted in his mind.”<br/>
“Oh come on, Austria lighten up. I was around his age when I started-”<br/>
“Stop right there. No ideas. Come now, Canada. Let’s go back inside the palace.” Austria takes my arm and leads me away from the Holy Roman Empire who begins laughing. “Don’t listen to him, Matthew. You will spoil yourself if you engage in acts like that. It is virtuous to remain chaste and pure.”<br/>
“I know.” Austria smiles at me and nods.<br/>
“You will be the best of us one day.”  He leads me through the large manor and to my mother’s apartment. A set of guards open the door for us and we walk in. Mama smiles at me once she sees me and waves for me to approach her. We embrace for a moment before she pulls away and looks over me.<br/>
“Perfect as always. Are you nervous?” She asks.<br/>
“Not really.”<br/>
“Good. We lost the war but that doesn’t mean we have to come out of this losers. We only have to worry about two kingdoms, I’m sure between Austria, Holy Rome, Russia, Sweden, and the Mughal Empire we can satisfy whatever they ask for easily.” Mama reassures.<br/>
“I’m sure we will be fine.” I add.<br/>
“That’s the spirit. Now run along, your mother and I have to discuss a few things before the meeting starts.” Austria says. Mama kisses my forehead before allowing me to leave the room.<br/>
As I walk through the halls I’m greeted by every noble that happens to pass by. Feeling a bit exhausted from the attention I head back out to the gardens and walk along the less travelled trails. As dinner approaches I decide it’s a good idea to begin making my way back and that’s when I almost run into someone.<br/>
“My apologies, I-” My sentence dies out as my eyes meet red ones. It’s the German noble.<br/>
“Running into people seems to be a habit of yours.” He teases.<br/>
“I’m sorry.” I manage, feeling a blush come on to my face.<br/>
“No worries, love.” He says the last word in German and now I’m regretting not taking Austria’s lessons more seriously.<br/>
“Prussia! Good to see you.” The Holy Roman Empire says while embracing the man. My eyes widen and I take a step back. Wait. The German noble is Prussia?!<br/>
“Good to see you too, Wolfgang, though I’m not sure how much your husband would appreciate this embrace.”<br/>
Holy Rome lets go of him and looks off awkwardly.<br/>
“Right then. Uh, we are going to start shortly. I suggest you two begin heading back soon.” A strange look passes between them before Holy Rome walks away.<br/>
“You are Prussia?” I ask dumbly.<br/>
“Sure am.” He says with a dazzling smile.<br/>
“You and my mother are at war, what were you doing in the gardens that night?”<br/>
“Were at war. We are talking peace today. And, it would mean the world to me if you told no one about that night. I would get in a bit of trouble with your mother if she knew.”<br/>
“Oh, o-of course. I won’t say anything.”<br/>
“Good boy.” He says while cupping my cheek. Curls of heat fill my stomach and my mouth runs dry. He looks into my eyes and for a moment a few not so appropriate thoughts flash through my mind. He chuckles as his hand leaves my face. “I’ll walk you back to the manor.”<br/>
To say that I’m blushing is an understatement. I feel like I have a fever, it is a miracle that my feet begin to move.<br/>
“. . . How long will you be staying?” I finally manage once we begin to pass the orangerie.<br/>
“Five days, perhaps seven if England doesn’t feel satisfied with what he gets.”<br/>
“What does he want?”<br/>
Prussia stops walking and I turn to look at him. His features turn a bit somber and a bad feeling begins to replace my giddiness.<br/>
“He wants you.”<br/>
My eyes open and I sit up on the couch.<br/>
“France told me how poor you’ve been sleeping lately so I didn’t want to bother you.” England says while placing a tray of tea on the coffee table. I swallow thickly as I try to recall the events of the night previous. The type of headache I have tells me I was drinking, but everything else is blurry. Waking up on England’s couch leads me to believe that nothing happened between us last night but honestly I have no clue. More than once in my youth I have been given too much alcohol and taken advantage of, because of this I tend not to drink but. . .<br/>
“I don’t know why, I don’t mean to be so tired.”<br/>
“None of us do.” He sits next to me and places a hand on my knee. Oh no. no. no. Why is he touching me like that? What happened last night?<br/>
“I cannot remember anything.” I admit.<br/>
“No worries, dear. You got a bit drunk last night and passed out on the couch. Nothing else happened if that is what you are trying to ask.”<br/>
“Y-yes, thanks.” Damn my weak voice. He gives me a small smile before the hand on my knee leaves in favor of brushing the end of my hair.<br/>
“Your hair is getting a bit long.”<br/>
I roll my eyes and stand up.<br/>
“What do you have against long hair?”<br/>
“I don’t have anything against it. . . you would just look better with hair that didn’t go past your shoulders.”<br/>
“I quite like my hair long.”<br/>
“To each his own, I suppose.” I bite my tongue. Talking back to him will only cause him to tell me to quit acting like America. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>May 31st, 1991</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Laying in the grass, listening to the birds sing as a soft breeze flows through couldn’t be any more magical. A warm feeling of content fills my chest and I sigh out happily.<br/>
“I know,” a deep, soothing voice agrees, “it is one of the most peaceful things I have ever experienced.” I smile and sit up, looking down at Russia. He has his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. I laugh at the content look on his face, causing him to open his eyes. “What is so funny, little one?”<br/>
“You! It’s like you are going to fall asleep.”<br/>
“I could. You wear me out.” I laugh and he smiles.<br/>
“Mama says it’s good for you.”<br/>
“It is good for me. The warmth fights off winter.” I don’t really understand what he means by that, but I’m happy nonetheless. My energy has returned to me and I feel like playing again. A plan formulates in my mind and I stifle a giggle as I sit up and pretend to stalk him like a cat. His eyes are closed so he is unsuspecting when I pounce on him.<br/>
“Ha! Got you!” I laugh.<br/>
“Are you sure about that?” he says while tickling me.<br/>
“Ah! Haha! No Fair!”<br/>
“Oh it is so fair.” He stops to let me breathe and I shake my head.<br/>
“You’re not ticklish, so it’s not fair.” I laugh.<br/>
“That is where you are wrong. I am, but I’m not going to tell you where.”<br/>
I look up past him and see mama behind him. She smiles and puts a finger to her lips and I can hardly contain the secret. She kneels down behind him and grabs the area just above his hips. He gasps and laughs a bit.<br/>
“I know where it is.” She says before kissing his cheek.<br/>
“That’s not fair.” He whispers to her.<br/>
“Oh really?” She says equally as soft before pressing into his hips again. He gasps and looks into her eyes.<br/>
“Really. . .”<br/>
“Ew!” I say at their affection, causing them to smile.<br/>
“Alright, sweetheart it’s getting late.” Mama says to me.<br/>
“Do I really have to?”<br/>
“Yes, honey. We can all play tomorrow.”<br/>
“Okay!”<br/>
“I’ll be right back, my love.” She says to Russia before kissing him.<br/>
“Gross!”<br/>
“What is wrong with me?” I mumble into Alfred’s lap. “I actually wanted to watch that movie.” The credits roll up the screen as he laughs a bit.<br/>
“You looked very content, I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”<br/>
“Yeah, well, it was actually a really good dream. . . Kind of bittersweet now.” I say while sitting up and stretching a bit.<br/>
“Memory?”<br/>
“Yeah. . . It was one from my early childhood, when Russia and France were still together. He was like a father to me for a while. I was so heartbroken when they broke up.”<br/>
“Russia? Fatherly? That doesn’t sound good.”<br/>
“He’s changed from what he used to be. . . Any word from his administration?”<br/>
“No. They are deliberating on a new personification if nothing improves in the next month.”<br/>
I furrow my eyebrows while turning the TV off.<br/>
“You sound sad about that. I thought this is what you wanted.”<br/>
“So did I but. . . I don’t know.”<br/>
“Come on, tell me.”<br/>
“. . . Something happened between us when he was still alive and I. . . It was um. . . It just made me think about how things could have been different. Like if we were human and could. . .”<br/>
“Be together?”<br/>
“I did not say that.” He says defensively.<br/>
“You insinuated.” I tease.<br/>
“No, I-”<br/>
“Look, you’re blushing! America doesn’t blush, what is this?” I tease while poking his cheek.<br/>
“Matthew, come on, stop. Okay, I feel things for maybe that guy.”<br/>
“That is close enough.” I say with a smile.<br/>
“Good. Cause that’s as close to a confession you’ll get from me.” I yawn and he leans back into the couch. “Bed time?”<br/>
“I guess so.”<br/>
“Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gives me a quick smile before standing and walking down the hall to the guest room. I allow myself to bask in the memory I was reminded of for a few moments until the phone begins to ring. With a content sigh I get up and answer it, not bothered that who ever is calling is doing so exceptionally late.<br/>
“Hello?”<br/>
“Canada?”<br/>
“. . . Prussia?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am a sucker, a sucker!, for happy endings. . . There are still two more chapters after this so stay tuned! Thank you so much for making it this far with this crazy story!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Have To Go Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As his world fades to black and everything around him disappears, Prussia finds himself waking up in a strange forest. Everything seems so surreal, especially when he notices the Holy Roman Empire standing there.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A feeling of serenity comforts me as I take in a deep breath. I can smell blooming flowers and trees, feel the soft grass underneath my body. As I open my eyes I notice I’m outside, laying down in a forest that looks like the ones I have at home. Confused, I sit up quickly and look around. This place looks familiar but I’m not entirely sure where I am, and as I look down at myself I’m wearing clothes I haven’t had in my wardrobe for at least a hundred years. I stand up and dust myself off, trying to come up with a plan on how to get out of this forest, and that’s when I notice how different my body looks. I can’t see my wrist bones anymore, my arms have a lot more muscle on them and I overall feel rather strong and healthy. As I look around me again I see a man standing a few paces away. <br/>It takes me only a few seconds to recognize him as the Holy Roman Empire. I gasp and stumble back a bit. <br/>“How do you feel?” He asks me. Hearing his voice again is like heaven to my ears, he sounds so much like Germany. <br/>“F-fine albeit confused. What is this? Where am I?” I ask. <br/>“This is the place all nations go once their time on Earth has run out. It saddens me greatly to see you here, but of course seeing you makes me happy so I’m conflicted.”  <br/>I rush over and embrace him tightly. He laughs and returns the gesture, holding me close like it’s 1745. <br/>“I can’t believe this is real, this seems too good to be true.” <br/>“Aye, but it is. I guess it’s the gift we get for leading such wretched lives.” <br/>I pull away and look over myself again. <br/>“Why do I look like this?” I ask. <br/>“In this place all your health is returned, it’s so good to see you looking like this again.” He says while caressing my cheek. His look turns a bit somber as his hand falls away. “I like him, by the way.” I give him a confused look and he smiles. “Canada. He was really good for you.” <br/>“How do you know about that?” <br/>“I’m not completely ignorant to the things that happen on Earth. We can see you sometimes.” <br/>“Oh.” I say, shame crawling over me. <br/>“Don’t fret about the things you did whilst alive, there is nothing you can do about it now. I’m still proud of you.” <br/>“Two in one day, well isn’t this exciting.” <br/>Wolfgang and I turn to look at the man leaning against one of the trees near us. He has curly black hair that falls to his shoulders and dark green eyes. I recognize him as the man I saw in my dreams, the one who helped me in the labyrinth. <br/>“Speaking of, how is he doing?” Wolfgang asks. <br/>“As well as you might expect, though incredibly shocked. It’s weird being shorter than him.” The dark haired man says before walking up to us, looking at me. “How are you handling all of this?” <br/>“Uh, it’s very weird, but surprisingly I’m okay with it.” <br/>“Good,” he turns to Wolfgang, “may I borrow him for a moment?” <br/>“Of course.” <br/>“Shall we?” He says, gesturing toward a path in the trees. I nod and we begin to walk away from Holy Rome. <br/>“It doesn’t seem you recognize me.” He says, breaking the silence. <br/>“I saw you in a dream once. . . Theo, right?” He chuckles lightly and smiles. <br/>“Yes, my name is Theo, but I was the Byzantine Empire while alive. We met a few times, but you were so young and it was so long ago I didn’t expect you to remember who I was.” <br/>“Oh, I’m sorry.” <br/>“It’s okay. . . Now, I must tell you more about this place. You can not leave willingly, there is no way to return to Earth of your own volition, if it is time to leave you will, if not you will stay here for eternity. You can see what is happening on Earth, but only if you are thought about, or called upon. Every personification who has ever existed and faced final death is here, don’t worry, they do not hold grudges if you were wondering.” <br/>I blink a few times, trying to take everything in. <br/>“Everyone?” <br/>“Yes. Do you have any more questions?” <br/>“You said something about two in one day. Who is the other person?” He smiles and sighs longingly. <br/>“The Russian Empire. . . Or, the Soviet Union as you may know him I’m not sure what you call him.” <br/>I stop walking and he turns to look at me. <br/>“Wow. . . Can I see him?” <br/>“Of course you can.” He answers before continuing to walk down the path. I take that as a sign to keep following him and as I do a small house comes into view. <br/>“This house is one I had on the outskirts of Constantinople, it brought me the most comfort so this is what manifested.” He stops walking and looks back at me. “He should be inside. I have some business to take care of so I will be leaving, but if you need anything or have any questions just ask for me.” He nods to me before walking back down the path we came on. <br/>I look at the front door, mind racing with what I could see and what could happen beyond it. Taking a deep breath I open the door and my eyes immediately find him in the room. He looks up at me from the chair he’s sitting in and a moment of silence passes between us. I take in how good he looks, like he did in the 1800s. He’s no longer thin and gaunt, he has all that health and muscle he did before the Revolution, deep melancholy features completely gone from his face. <br/>“I’m so sorry.” He says. <br/>“Don’t be.” I answer, closing the distance between us and embracing him. <br/>“I should have been better to you, to all of you, I’m so sorry.” <br/>“I could say the same, we both did horrible things.” <br/>As we pull away he smiles at me and feels my arms. <br/>“Wow. You haven’t looked like this in decades.” <br/>“I know, it was easy for me to forget how strong I was.” <br/>He squeezes my arms again before sighing and letting me go.<br/>“I haven’t treated you the best, at all, for the past couple of decades but I want you to know that I care so much about you.” <br/>“Me too. . . I know things have been weird between us since the Great War, but I do not hold anything against you.”<br/>He smiles at me just as Holy Rome walks into the small house. <br/>“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’d like to show you the room.” He says. <br/>“The room?” I ask. <br/>“It’s where you can see those who are still living.” Russia answers. <br/>“Like Germany?” <br/>“Yes. Would you like to see?” Wolfgang asks. <br/>“Of course.” I give one last look to Russia before following Holy Rome out of the house and back down the path I came up with the Byzantine Empire. A silence falls between us as large trees pass by, the path and endless forest feeling like a dream. There is a lot I want to say to him, racing through my mind. <br/>“I was so devastated after your death. . . I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something so painful.” I admit as we walk. <br/>“I know,” Wolfgang sighs out, “I could hardly stand to watch you. I never wanted to cause you so much pain, but it was my time. I wasn’t what the people needed, I couldn’t have taken them where they needed to go. And besides, Germany is more than what I could have asked for in a replacement.” <br/>“You think so?” I ask with a smile. <br/>“Yes. He’s wonderful, a little dry and dark, but good nonetheless.” <br/>“I think he’s amazing as well.” <br/>Off in the distance a small room appears, and in a few moments we are just before the door. <br/>“It’s just through here, but. . . You might see some things that’ll make you upset. Also time is different here, keep that in mind.” He warns. I nod and walk through the door. <br/>“Are you okay?” I hear Italy’s voice as I’m transported to a dark room. <br/>“. . .Yeah.” I hear Germany first before seeing him laying down on his bed. Italy walks over toward him and sits on the edge of the bed, resting her hand on his shoulder. <br/>“Do you need anything?” She asks. He sits up and sighs. <br/>“No, I’m just restless.” <br/>They look into each other's eyes for a few moments before she leans forward and kisses him. They remain like that for some time, and it makes me happy. Happy that he has someone to help him navigate losing me. I’m happy to see that he is not alone. Ecstatic to learn that they may have patched things up. <br/>As they pull apart I see him give her a look that I’ve seen Holy Rome give me. One of love and passion. She smiles a bit and gives him a quick kiss on the forehead. <br/>“I missed you.” She says. <br/>“I missed you too.” <br/>Just as fast as I was in their room I’m ripped away. Again, I hear things first before actually seeing what is happening. The weather forecast is playing, static causes the human’s voice to come in and out. Eventually I situate myself in Canada’s living room and I notice him laying on the couch. I also notice the empty bottles on the coffee table and the blush across his face. <br/>I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him drunk before. <br/>Slowly he sits up, putting a hand on his forehead. <br/>“I didn’t even have that much.” His words are a bit slurred. <br/>“Lightweight!” America calls from the kitchen. <br/>“He gets that from me.” France adds as she walks from the kitchen and to the couch. “Let’s hope that’s the only drunk quality you got from me.” <br/>“What do you mean the only?” America asks while walking back into the living room and putting a bottle of water on the coffee table.<br/>“Well, I get rather amorous when I drink.” She admits. <br/>“So do I.” Canada manages. “But you both are safe.”<br/>“That’s not going to feel good tomorrow.” America laughs. <br/>“It doesn’t feel good now.” <br/>“See darling, drinking your pain away never works. Just ask Russia.” <br/>“Would if I could.” <br/>I find myself sitting in a blank room. I guess he stopped thinking about me. Standing up I sigh and exit the room. <br/>“Not taking it well, huh?” Wolfgang asks as I step back out into the forest. <br/>“Germany seems to be doing okay, but Canada is. . . he’s doing pretty bad.” <br/>Wolfgang puts a comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezes. <br/>“He won’t be like that forever. Eventually he will begin to heal.” I put my hand on his and nod. <br/>“Gilbert, Wolfgang.” We both turn to see the Byzantine Empire and Russia walking toward us. <br/>“Really?” Wolfgang asks, looking heartbroken. Theodorus nods. <br/>“What? What’s going on?” I ask. <br/>“You don’t belong here. Neither of you do. You have to go back.” Theodorus answers. <br/>“Excuse me? Like, live again?” Russia asks. <br/>“Yes.” Wolfgang answers. <br/>“No, absolutely not, I can’t do that again. Believe it or not, I’d rather be dead.” Russia admits.<br/>“I’m so sorry, but you have to. I wish we could be together but it’s just not quite your time yet.” Theodorus answers, eyes watering. Russia’s look turns sorrowful and I turn back to Wolfgang.<br/>“Till we meet again, my love.” He says before kissing my forehead. <br/>“I can’t do this, no, no, please.” Russia begs as he begins to disappear.<br/>“It’ll be okay.” Theodorus reassures as he disappears completely. I look down at myself and notice my increasing transparency. Putting my hand on Wolfgang’s cheek, I lean up and place my lips on his. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer just before everything fades to black. <br/>Almost immediately the world comes back to me and again I’m laying down in a forest. I scramble onto my feet and look around me, noticing a little white house with sea green trim. <br/>It’s my old house in my old capitol. <br/>I rush to the door but of course it’s locked. <br/>As I try to think of a way to get inside I notice that I still look like my strongest self. Putting my hand on the door knob again I turn it, breaking the lock and opening the door. I remember having an old rotary phone in the kitchen and I see it as I rush in. <br/>I quickly dial a number, praying it still works. <br/>. . .<br/>. . .<br/>“Hello?” <br/>“Canada?.” <br/>“. . . Prussia?”</p>
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